The Linnet's Wings Spring 2015 | Page 87

Spring 2015 Last Thoughts Before Drinking From The River Lethe by Constance Brewer All day long you think of the underworld— the gloom, the depth, the stink of sulfur. It's the dimness that bothers you, the lack of a view of the stars. Instead of oceans of fish there are rivers of souls, undulating in unison, a great whale of movement that lulls one into complacency. You think how it would be trapped beneath the surface, slick with the vapors of final exhalations, air rift with final words caught unspoken. Of the hundreds of billions of souls you concentrate on a mere handful, those that glow with extra light, as if incredibly close in the night sky. The ones like fireflies. You know as soon as you step in the flowing river of oblivion you’ll cease to care about the universe, the sun, and the home you left behind. You promise yourself you won't forget what it's like to become a momentary star on some nameless soul's horizon. The Linnet's Wings Poetry