The Greek Tower

The Greek Tower

A Poem by Reynard
"

Seems dust is being kicked up in the birthplace of Western civilization.

"
Red beams burnt 1:00 into Lukas' eyes; fate's silent alarm reverberated through his bones, deaf yawns and high-pitched buzzards in his ears faded into numbing buzzes...familiar to those who take trips outside the realm of Parental Guidance, but Lukas had not traveled in just over a dozen years. Greece was restless. Elders paced across nights, searching for ways to raise their children, who grew into nightmares for abandoned tourists, spending wasted bills and hours on unfamiliar phones canceling cards and numbers that create a stolen identity.

Outside Lukas' cottage, ancient tongues sprayed from the mouth of Hades as rip-tides battered Cape Tenaro. Bottles shattered against rock, messages within disintegrated into nothing more than wounded words. As Lukas emerged from the warmth of blanketed mounds, an irrepressible gust kicked in his front door, uninvited dirt and unwarranted papers rushed inside, knocking over Lukas' dresser, shattering mirrors and tearing through screens.

A path unveiled itself to Lukas, from the foot of his bed into the pit of the storm. He toed the line carefully barefoot, across splintered wood planks then coarse, battered, stone stairs. Once in the yard, soothing moss spread between in his webs, until he looked to the light-tower and witnessed torrents so fierce, the light within had extinguished. As caretaker, Lukas knew it was his duty and his alone to replace the light, so he solemnly climbed the summit feared to be his grave.

Winds penetrated what thought to be impermeable stone, whistling in dull and ominous tone as the handrail creaked and conducted the chills of the dead surrounding the cape, swirling in foam and cast into the unknown of a frigid December night. Shards of broken windows sliced into Lukas' cold feet, causing feeling and blood to return.

Lukas fumbled in the dark, searching for tools to fix the light, as howls from the world swirled around the point and demanded attention. He finally viewed the clouds above, and for the first time saw the Mediterranean from his world without glass casing below. In the distance, fishing vessels toppled and collided, as changing waves swallowed lives and turned over from every corner of his fear, Death greeted Greece in the New Year.

© 2012 Reynard


Author's Note

Reynard
More to come.

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Reviews

he seems a little out of touch with people in general i'm not sure if this is what you are going for or not, but i like that he can see what others can't this world needs more souls like that in these times :)

Posted 12 Years Ago



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Added on October 31, 2012
Last Updated on October 31, 2012
Tags: Greek, tower, unrest, riot, poetry, imagery

Author

Reynard
Reynard

Newarklyn, OH



About
I wear an oak hood at night, I am the ghost of my ancestors. more..

Writing