The Hyperborean Mythos
Passage of the King Snake
(An Irish Tale)
Outside of old Dublin, there resides a passageway, where the snakes cross,
As they make their way to Dublin-!
May die on the way of exhaustion.
The King Snake, waits for the impending fog to rise-otherwise known as bog, to sweep over all …
Awaits for it to shift, usually in the mornings, but he never leaves!
This day, the bog was so badly, should any attempt to walk it straight, it would be to his death!
But this day, he decides to trek to Dublin all the same …
Strategically he has moved stones to use as markers to make his way, days before, to where he felt the edge of the bog would lift.
To his dismay, on his way he finds the bog rising faster and faster, the sky strikes light, with its lightening! …
He sees his fellow snakes struggling, death has them in its clutches-
The bog then swoops all the sakes into the nearby sea, except the King Snake who follows an old maid, with a red petticoat, lantern in hand.
The bog is no less carpeted with death, it has swallowed up almost every living thing in its path; it crosses the King Snake's mind, many have never returned.
Once in Dublin, the King Snake is met by the high social class of the city.
He is unable to maintain a conversation with them.
The King Snake is not pleased.
He is seen and treated as if in a false position.
So the King Snake feels less composed to them.
Here he has no imperial space, he, he returns to his less exotic place.
Which to him is more domesticated.
He realizes his perception, because of his reception, was off.
# 5083 / 2-19-2016
Copyright © February, 2016 by Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. hc
Note: the poem is Spatial Metaphor & Personification
The Demon Follows
Beware, demons follow
The chosen, from birth to death-!
Through their lives!
With nets in hand, they
Follow like fiery red stallions,
Over dung hills, stooped …
They come from the bare
Earth; cracked and creviced, up through
Merger gases and granite roots-
Once above they hang in
The air, where it is plain the
Chosen have stood! …
Wondering and curious
The demon peers into the inviting gloom
And begin to blow, blow
Strange odors fill the air
And whispers to seduce the unaware
Come like opiate blossoms!
They disturb the human
Senses; now he must make him
Stumble, fade from God …
This is the demon's job!
# 5082 / 2-18-2016
Copyright © 2-2016, Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. hc