• J. W. Barlament

A Short Form Poem For My Iyabode

And forth stepped Iyabode, first born fae above the stars

A mother making seamless seem her labored magic stride,

From beyond the grave, entering his dream to give her gift,

Which pierced the haze despite its hood and heralded the day.

A chalice, and an eye inside, changing hues and chanting hymns,

A whole hand’s size, all-seeing, but fixated still on him,

Until his hooded dreamworld hero took and held it,

And his Iyabode, bowing, billowed into cosmos and serenely disappeared.

But be forewarned; a girl forsaken goes forgotten not.

An iris leapt alight with flame, its pupil flooding alpine blues.

The bearded hooded figure briskly handed him the fiery chalice,

And the eye subsumed his entire vision and returned him sweating to the waking world.


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