Superstitious
By weaverfish
Wed, 15 Sep 2004
- 324 reads
This is the underworld.
As I venture through Aeneas's pathway
he once cut so easily.
I can't see Elisium, but the souls
stretch on for miles in their lines
with their soundless shouts following me
and their gaping mouths haunting.
And I dream of a place where the fields
stretch on, and there is tawny sand
and the crowds hum like bees in a meadow
and the river yawns through with the blessed
water which brings on forgetfulness.
Where I can hide amongst the willow trees
And give no thought to Dido or Anchises
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