Nocturnal Admission

Apologies to Seneca

Once again at night, Penthos Is welcomed to my bed. I gently cradle his hairless head, As his ancient trimerous fingers Lay entwined in three of mine.

My daemon knows me well. We wallow in our grief And, as the thief of joy, He guides me through the lonely night.

We swim in the black waters of shame, Then strip in the sluggish pool of blame Below musty bending boughs of yew.

Two sounds pierce the gloom, one lugubrious, a loon, The other an owl’s screech to reach the walls of Hell And echo there where savage spirits dwell.

Dread is in the air. But to be fair, I welcome it, Along with fear and pain, Disease and failing breath.

I can only face the day If guilt comes out to play All night.

Only when Senectus, The harbinger of death, appears Am I reprieved, Relieved of fears And lamentations.

“Nepenthe,” he says, Or so I think. He offers me the drink.

With the dawn My bedfellow is gone, And with him Most memories of sorrow. Only stains and ashes on the sheets Remain until tomorrow.