Lotus Eaters
A word with Greek mythology origins, a lotus-eater is characterized as one who lives their life in a constant state of dream and fantasy, they are completely indifferent to the busy world and its problems.
Etymology: In classic mythology, lotus-eaters are a member of people, whom Odysseus discovered in an eternal condition of forgetfulness.
They were completely enraptured by their indulgence of the fruit of the legendary lotus.
time was a loose chain
perpendicularly swaying
nights blended in hazy pastel colors
with no sun ever setting
the nectar, oh the nectar
that covets the rummage
it feeds in dialogues of earnest insubordination
iron clad feet dancing
the remnants of your father's name
they tally the years you
wasted in a glass bottle--ever spinning
but the grin, oh the grin you wear like a badly worn rosary
tied against the face
you swore would age in grace
alas, the schmuck rolled
the dice on red and sold his soul for dead
but death, ever cunning claimed
the soul in worn-out particles
disintegrated little murders,
open caskets with eyes veined red
the ravens pecked
the colors of your sight,
the long kiss goodnight
merrily you roam with
the insidious lotus burning within you
each petal plucked that
you ingested left your mouth
an arid desert
consumed by the fractaled disillusionment that you painted in mind
leaving your tulip limbs
withering while you hover in limbo
and sought freedom
in chewable paradise,
with your soul as a price.
Etymology: In classic mythology, lotus-eaters are a member of people, whom Odysseus discovered in an eternal condition of forgetfulness.
They were completely enraptured by their indulgence of the fruit of the legendary lotus.
time was a loose chain
perpendicularly swaying
nights blended in hazy pastel colors
with no sun ever setting
the nectar, oh the nectar
that covets the rummage
it feeds in dialogues of earnest insubordination
iron clad feet dancing
the remnants of your father's name
they tally the years you
wasted in a glass bottle--ever spinning
but the grin, oh the grin you wear like a badly worn rosary
tied against the face
you swore would age in grace
alas, the schmuck rolled
the dice on red and sold his soul for dead
but death, ever cunning claimed
the soul in worn-out particles
disintegrated little murders,
open caskets with eyes veined red
the ravens pecked
the colors of your sight,
the long kiss goodnight
merrily you roam with
the insidious lotus burning within you
each petal plucked that
you ingested left your mouth
an arid desert
consumed by the fractaled disillusionment that you painted in mind
leaving your tulip limbs
withering while you hover in limbo
and sought freedom
in chewable paradise,
with your soul as a price.