Serpentine Illusion

Raw heat consumes the meadow,
And Eden’s green door beckons.
The staff of life, a swan-like contortion,
Charged by the energy of Caduceus
Makes Claim to Ynys Ddu’s green edges
Along burning banks sleep
Seven, wide-awake, serpents,
Their sockets empty in blind, as night, eyes.


From within the sweat of primeval ooze,
Unsettling the silence of stifling heat.
I hear the earth’s muffled breathing,
While beneath gesticulating trees
Death’s icy prescience seems to rasp,
“Giraldus! You are immortal.”
Aghast, my desolate body dissolves
In an frenzied flow of madness,
It craves its own serpentine illusion
To challenge the wisdom of Caduceus


I disregard flickering warnings,
And pass through viperous banks,
Where mystical elements besiege,
And discordantly shriek:
Giraldus “You are mortal. Go back”
But fear that flows through frozen arteries
Makes me fearless.


Silently, secret banks unfurl their drama
Serpents lift cold tactile heads,
And my, pale as rose water, blood
Bubbles and sears through tangled veins.
As foolish as a skulking Achilles,
I leave the kaleidoscope of death
To a foul mouthed virago,
Who celebrating my inglorious defeat,
Shrieks with a coarseness that offends,
“ Go back! Giraldus.
The will of Caduceus will be done!”
Alone, with my sad delusion
I depart in shame.


“Giraldus! You are mortal. Go back!”