Cimmerian Home

The call came in at a quarter to noon,

The air was fusty and the grounds were cold.

It was a sprat of a man on the other end,

That told me such a thing.

 

 

My eyes they drift to the far corners of the room,

Where a spider web has formed.

The monster in the middle weaves its home,

Writing down my name.

 

 

I drift apart for a moment or two,

Forgetting about the man.

And for a second I can believe that he is a beast,

Speaking to me fallaciously.

 

 

The outside place is devastatingly beautiful,

With a swallow playing a melody on a branch.

Though the walls within this space are gray,

And the lights are dimmed to nothing.

 

 

The sounds the man makes are poignant,

As he tells me such a thing.

The far corners of the room are calling,

Where the spider weaves my Cimmerian home.

Author's Note

For those that don't know: “Cimmerian” which is from the Greek mythology relating to or denoting members of a mythical people who lived in perpetual mist and darkness near the land of the dead.

Reviews

[Divinity Sleeps in This]

Sometimes when I read your poems, I think of feudal feasts or renaissance blooms, your way of speaking has such an olden feel of big celebrations in little words!

1. My eyes they drift to the far corners of the room
2. The far corners of the room are calling

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A great dream like sense of fantasy and curved reality, well done, good read.

[EMF]

Stunning fantasy work. You've created a world with your words, one that would benefit inly for continuance. Marvelous job

[fireblossom]

I really enjoyed reading this. A fantasy suspension of time and place weaves through this wonderful poem. Well done.