The Banquet

Before me the table, immense, set in beauty and bounty

The golden cloth in rich folds underneath

A sumptuous delight in any country.

The chairs are those of kings, high, purple, and royal

I am seated at the head

A heavy cup of wine in hand, smelling of berries, wood, and soil.

I lift it to this banquet populated by the dead, and to the food of which I cannot touch.

My choices are many, my reach is none

A mind and body withered from living only in the sun.

I am rich, yet I am not

In dreams alone I am real

I have yet have not

Striving always for the ideal.

Confabulations to tear down what should not have been built

For mine is to swim past any foreign bay

Searching these vast waters for the lost spirit;

A sleek fish, in blue depth under purple sky

Lost to any demarcating line.