The Maddening

Such longing
it drives me to barely restrained sighs
that conceal
the depths of trembling pain in my bones

There is a High Seat that calls for me
in some other place
that is not here

There is a living Fire that waits for me
I feel its unnatural warmth
despite the artificial cool
in this sterile room

The flapping of the flags without the door
repeat the murmuring
of the impatience
of Those that Call

He pours out libations to his god
in bittersweet words that echoes
into the empty depths
of my listening soul
and stirs awake
forgotten echoes
of cries and laments and shrieks

The cards spill out onto the table
and in their shifting colors
are the entrails of doves
and the cawing of ravens
and the burning of bones

Such longing
to take up a mantle I can not wear
for a people
that do not exist anymore
and probably never did

“Have you a chill? Oh, you tremble so!”
“It is only a passing fever”
A touch of madness brought on by a call I can not answer
for there is no one to speak to
no one to speak for

No races for this thoroughbred to run
no children to fly this kite

An anachronism out of place
out of time
unable to bring herself fully into this world
or the other

Such longing
that pulls and claws at me from within
this modern world has no place for it
for me

Madness
it is called
as it calls me
its own