Xena Dies the Second Time

Xena Dies the Second Time

      by Gus Goatsmilk

            albatros     

            over the waves

            where dolphins play

            the luckless sailor lies

            besot with grief

            no wind's relief

            unheard his weary cries

            the wide ship still

            and the sea still

            fair madness hither flies

            the alb'tros lands

            and his red hands

            to the foul stone applies

           

With Pantene shine and simple ways the babe of Daven builds her luckless nest. Cut now with sword and spear and dripping ruby tears she flies molest and faltering. She drops twice down the length of misery's day and dies. No funeral the glad harpies keep. No shrine is raised on the wide crest of Oreb or the heights of equal shining Sinai where sweet heavenly breezes ban all care and strictly every law of God uphold. Surrendered now to blasts and blows, the vast seas' airy currents rain down equal indiscrim'nant on his shoulders broad who mighty Neptune's ways pursues astride a brazen barge or weary rowing bowed on some lost broken bark, or her fair head who frowning fortune lacks and sickly death for trousseau lends. Surrendered, Xena flies now down, her beating last her wings, and handsome more than beautiful she sits her gently down, down sinks, unearthly load of earthly care, burden of the brave. How will she now her grave leave take? How now will light and day rejoicing enter bright her bow'rs' wide and greet her lying clothéd not across her Nemian couch, a store of honey-scented flowers busy with the steadfastness of bees beside on a small table laid with things attractive by her loving maid? When now will Mantopean damsels wrapt in shyest and thin silk dance comely for her after wars' decrease and ermine kings' gor'd battles' solemn death proclaimed by heralds' stately chose to best recall those glory days? Who now to fold in arms enfolding? Who now to overtop and crown's last days by fit reflection on his wasted life? Nay, more than these, where now to dress for show fastid'ious and enchant in gown of finest raiment covering nearly half of her fine and her rearing breast, thighs gird not and available for all the viewing world to see? Oh, lady of the dusky prime! Oh, wondrous Amazon who for our pleasure weekly rides the foaming fastnesses of wire and tube. Give o'er and die! Your death forever will remembered be by those of us who loyal watch your smiling countenance, alive for one small word of cheer that will our hearts in blissful peace lie down at praying evening's close of dizzy day. Rest. We do love thee and adore each lock of downy hair that on thy faultless forehead falls. Sleep. Dream. And, dreaming come to us once more, for, eternal, we are thine.