Lamia
If science can make
all magic things just trivial
and give explanations to all,
cause the rainbow
to unfold as a prism,
what are the images then
still lying in my unconscious soul?
Does doom and destiny
write their own lines
and are there still mysteries
lying somewhere
at the edges of reason,
lurking and waiting
for the right time, moment
and circumstance to appear
to step from shade
into the clear
and could the “tender-personed Lamia”
again be here?
*
One night I have a dream
that seems real
and it is during
the middle ages
of a well built man
swimming a strong river
sometimes trice a day
to get to his flock
on the other side
where fields of grass
is in a great glen.
He swims back
to chop some wood
in a forest
and his muscles bulge
while he swings the axe.
Sometimes while swimming
he glimpses a long shadow following,
but always at the edge
of his perception
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poem by Gert Strydom
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