We have been
Three months now
In this silent prison.
Our bodies,
Once instruments of pleasure
Are now brittle
Sensitive outlines,
Swollen and bruised.
We (Joseph and myself)
Spend most of our time
Talking
And looking through
A tiny opening
In the eastern wall
Of our stainless steel cell.
It's existence is unknown
To the silver-hooded
Guardians of Light.
If ever discovered,
It would surely be sealed
And our lives
Undoubtedly sacrificed.

Through this hole
Which we call
The Oracle,
We see
The deserted streets
Below us.
A number of rusting
Green chariots
Are in direct view,
And in the evening
We watch
The sulpherous
Cloud formations
On the horizon
(Where the star-filled sky
once was).
It was exactly ninety days ago
That I was led
To this cell
And met Joseph,
Whose long hair
Like my own,
Had been painfully removed.
He clasped my hand
And grinned.

The Oracle has been
Our only link
To the outside.
We cautiously watch
The guardians of Light,
In their poor-fitting leather costumes
Clumsily dragging off
The rotting bodies
Of black shiny horses.
The dusty streets
Are littered with
Grey and white pamphlets,
Issued by the church -
Obviously to calm
The ignorant.
In all fairness to our captors,
They have allowed me
To keep my musical instrument
(although the strings
have been removed
and I am only able
to pretend
to play).

Joseph talks a great deal -
Mostly at night
When the sirens
Make sleep impossible.
He has told me
Of his home in the west
And
Of a girl
Named Diana,
Who could swim
Like a fish
And who would put
Her hand
On the back
Of his neck.
When he talked of her
He would smile,
But mostly he would weep
Softly
With his hands
Over his face.
At those times,
I would go to
The Oracle
And
Pretend to look down.

In the last few days
The silence of our cell
Has been replaced
By shrill screams
And through the Oracle
We can see our brothers,
Being herded
Between buildings
And lashed
With long wire whips.
Joseph and I
Have been informed
That today will be our day
To be delivered.
At this moment
We hear the booted footsteps
Shuffling about this place.
As we have much
Preparation ahead
I must conclude this epitaph
To you
Our chosen successors.

09/12/1969

Author's Note: Aristotle was Joseph's dog.

Posted on 08/24/2006
Copyright © 2025 Terry Olynik