Ode to Lethe

I know I said I was on hiatus, but life has gotten even crazier as of late, and I realized I only have the energy to do one of two things - continue with my daily duties, or stay away from poetry. As my duties are, well, my duties, I figured to let poetry back into my life. I hadn't realized how much I would miss it, I love it more than I had thought. Anyways, at the very least I can publish this poem without the slightest worry of it bleeding into my personal life in any way - although I am tired. n.b. Morpheus was the Greek god of dreams, and the Lethe was one of the five rivers of Hades, and when you drank from it you forgot your previous existence. And poppies, well, if I have to explain poppies to you...

Black draughts drunk

each with a fresh gush and breath

bringing sleep where I lie,

belly to the deck, back to the sky,

head lolling out over the prow,

the journey neglected in favor

of a brief sojourn in Morpheus’ thrall.

And when I return,

ferried on a bantam call,

I know not how I came to be

in such a sodden, sullen state,

and so I purse my lips to kiss

once more the gentle Lethe,

whose banks of churning black loam

yield to a meadow of poppies.