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DESCENT
©
Phillip Medhurst. 2009. Page 1 of 16
DESCENT
Phillip Medhurst
FINNESBURG
Brand beat edda,doom on doom.
FETHERHOMA
My sark, so soft, in a trice can shiftTo spears, cloud-white, that scythe aboveThe sorry squats of thought-bound men.The seas wave-wrinkled, plough-furrowed fieldsFrown as I fly on the road of a swan,And sing, unheard, like a soul outgone.
LORE
There comes a time when the past, unthanked,Sinks to its death - forgetfulness.Gone then the men who fired the throngWho thirsted for more of their heady mead.Shapers should share their hoarded lore.Grim is this life without glee in the hall,Happy recall, and tales well-turned,Which heard, once fired the hearth-warmed floor.Then brave deeds sink without a fight.Shame on us all when the owl owns night.
GALAHAD
Behind the grimy concrete andGlaucoma'd glass old Pelles groans.The stain grows wider from his groin.
 
DESCENT
©
Phillip Medhurst. 2009. Page 2 of 16
He tries to read the ceiling-cracks.Once-great Mordrain, downed by strokes,Enquires of the upraised Host.He knows too well one certainty:His days of usefulness are past.Elsewhere a youth is kneeling atA stream, and catches silver toHis downy lips. By this refreshed,He sets out sick-visiting.
PHOENIX
Her hair, ash-grey, is now dyed red:a phoenix risen from the dead.
SARCOPHAGUS
Seianti Hanunia TlesanaNow wants to protest. But the lock ofHer jaw-bone and loss of her front-teeth(As well as her flesh) means that she isUnable to speak for herself andIs glad to accept this scribe's service.When still in her prime she foresaw inHer wisdom decay would prevail. ThusSome clay was amassed, and instructionsWere given to artists to modelHer image seductive and buxom,All tinted in natural colours.Thus she was shown forth as a gift toThe future, that this work of beautyMight sound a soft echo of pleasuresThat she brought to men. The fine lady,This done, could put up with old age andThe dribbling of lips that in youth wereAdorned with love's whispers and kissesBefore her sweet breath became foetid.
 
DESCENT
©
Phillip Medhurst. 2009. Page 3 of 16
And so her life's shade could endure theDenial of sunlight, content thatHer beauty shone over her coffin,Preserved just as she had decided.But cruel necromancers, the priests ofYour science, put flesh on the time whenShe did not have beauty, so they couldEnjoy some cold cerebral pleasure.This paltry addition to the sum ofMan's knowledge has cost her too much. InThe impotence that death has imposed herIndignant remonstrance can not beSustained without pity's assistanceIn place of the promptings of love. ButTrue praise, she asserts, must derive fromErections desired, not from duty.
ZARDOZ
If immortal, where would beOur zest for life?Apathy would freeze us allTo monuments.So come, Oblivion, as friend:A longed-for harm -Pyramidic heavy, lightAs chamber-dust.Death eternal grant, O LordOf Sudden Ends.Smeared with necroleptic balmYour bullets sing.
SAMSON
Sam found a little knifeWhile wand'ring in the ward.When nurses tried to trussThe old man to a chair,He cut their knotted tapeAnd made good his escape.
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