My Radiant, My Beautiful [*POEM*]

My Radiant, My Beautiful

A Xanadu poem


My Radiant, my Beautiful, my True,
you have placed your healing hands on my head,
you have led me out of the valley of darkness— 
and now you are dead.

I cannot see you, my Angel, or feel your touch, 
and mostly I think there is no one here:
just me alone, lost on a sea of dreams—
and on my cheek, one tear.

Icon of eternal youth and beauty, haunting
me in the dark shadow of my days,
let me hear you again whisper in my ear, 
‘I am with you always.’

— XANADU, Translations from a Lost Language 

11 thoughts to “My Radiant, My Beautiful [*POEM*]”

      1. Unlike some others on this site, stolid souls who have generated negative comments about LD’s latest verse on other threads, I find her latest poems a radical improvement on her past work. I am not looking for cheerful optimistic poems as signs of progress!

        If cheerfulness is to be the criterion, we might as well go to comic verse and limericks for our inspiration! Sincere cries from the heart, cris de coeurs, are despised only by those who value the right side of the brain and have lost touch with the left side of the brain where the Muse resides.

        Keep up the good work, LD, and do not be discouraged by these brainy naysayers who suggest you are going rapidly downhill. 🙂

  1. “Translations from a Lost Language”

    I think this is meant to convey that poems like the above are meant to sound like translations from a lost dead language — like Ancient Greek, Latin, or Sanskrit. Or even some otherworldly, legendary language like the fabled language of Atlantis, Lemuria or Mu. Many of LD’s poems are indeed set in an imaginary world, e,g. “The Gybroch”, which is a totally otherworldly poem set in a dreamscape quite unlike the world around us.

    https://www.darkmoon.me/2010/the-gybroch/

    I note that the valiant Lobro (commenting above) is also the first one to comment favourably on “The Gybroch”, a poem prefaced by a repulsive picture that makes me almost freak out when I see it. How anyone can conceive a sexual passion for such an abominable creature is beyond my understanding. Ugh! 🙂

    I don’t think LD would be capable of writing a “decadent” poem like this today, bearing all the hallmarks of Baudelaire, Poe and Swinburne — it reads almost like macabre horror fiction a la Dracula. However, “The Gybroch” was written over 15-20 years ago, I believe, and is quite unlike the above poem (“My Radiant, My Beautiful”) which was written only a few months ago.

    1. Sister M,
      Then was then and now is now, so a couple of minor points:
      • If I recall, the original picture was much more grotesque, of some kind of hairless monkey gargoyle,
      • Irony was in regular use, unlike a dead concept today.
      Pax

      1. “Then was then and now is now…”

        Wise words! I couldn’t agree more. “Then” has brought us to “Now”. In fact, what we thought and did in the “Then” has made us what we are now.

        And yet, it’s not as simple as this, as I’m sure you will admit.

        A bad man doesn’t necessarily become a worse man because of all the evil he has done, like the serial killer Bundy who just went from bad to worse. . A bad man can sometimes become a good man, in spite of the evil he has done. This is if God intervenes in his life and sets him on a new path. I’m talking about religious conversions, when former sinners becomes saints, as is seen throughout history. The seed of sanctity lay buried in the heart St Augustine while he was still living a riotous life in the brothels and bath houses of Carthage.

        Apologies for letting my mind wander! 🙂

      2. Something that you said spontaneously switched my thinking to a different set of rails.

        Ours is a world of lies, thoroughly permeated by deceit and attendant malice it exudes like those silvery tracks trailing behind slugs as they grope their way to nowhere.

        Yes, a seed of sanctity may germinate in midst of debauchery but in these times the opposite is apposite, if you’ll pardon the word-game, namely a front of sanctity serves as screen behind which evil maneuvers for a better strike placement—examples abound—take Pope Francis who hits the high notes in terms of both false sanctity and true depravity.

        Think about it, M—isn’t it the age of Kali Yuga, Antichrist stalking the world and ever present in just about every exchange?
        Think about the Zeitgeist, the ruling spirit of the times, political correctness, has there ever been a more odious term sanctifying sycophancy, bending knee to temporal might regardless of its moral content, what about social justice warriors as devoid of reason as of decency, honor or courage, the nauseating virtue signaling.
        Each of these Noahideous manifestations is the calling card of Antichrist, loud and clear—GOYIM, OBEY!
        This is the winning strategy of Jew, the shock soldier of evil, isn’t it Sister, it’s been engraved into the halachic manifesto at its sordid conception, 3760 BC (?), to reject any moral code, universal (thus Natural Law, the spirit knows what is right, like gravity “knows” what is up and down without instruction manual called Torah) yet providing individual guidance, the inner struggle to determine what’s right and wrong but to insist on absolute compliance with minute rules of YHWH in their Talmudic thousands, however insane, unjust and absurd, to replace horns of dilemma with the horns of devil.

        What would Augustine have said before he became St.?
        In this Tissot painting, I like the expression on Longinus’ face, myopic angst, creeping doubt and insecurity which will be lifted when the blood and water pour out of the Redeemer’s postmortem wound.
        That moment, Truly This Was The Son Of God that illuminated warrior’s simple heart is my favorite, more than epiphany of powerful and sophisticated Saul on the road to Damascus.

        Apologies for letting my mind wander! 🙂

      3. Lobro
        Looks can be deceiving. I submit that the Age of Kali Yuga has been waning starting around the time of the Battle of Hastings and the Magna Carta. That what we’re witnessing now is Satan getting his last licks in before crawling back into his “subterraneous cave”

        A “darkest hour before the dawn” kinda thing.

      4. Quite possible Brownhawk, quite possible.
        But he won’t crawl back to his cave on his own—he must be defeated.

        And we have no right to anticipate divine intervention while sitting on dead asses—we must fight our own battle, something that was inculcated into me from the earliest childhood and therefore I will continue to put my shoulder to the wheel even if I am the only one so willing, the rest taking knee in lockdown submission, face-masks forever on like diabolical chastity belts—plug the mouth, plug the brain.

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