By Lefcothea-Maria Golgaki
A faint mist hovered in the air that had a distinct feel of its own. She gathered her hair delicately into a round coil then leaned back in the reclining chair. Polaroid photos sprawled in every direction portrayed the essence of sheer bliss, yet the futility she was trapped inside conveyed her mind’s spurious impressions. The unresolved conflict between factual and optimal had exposed the paradox of emptiness caught as she was between accomplishment and lethargy distortions of her role were commonplace and posed a formidable obstacle. Not ever had she failed to recognize all was nothing, lost in the mist of time. What could actually erase this strength of feeling? As the molten rock of aimlessness solidified. Pinned down to a treacherous existence, she felt disconnected from what was real. The mist was followed by lashing rain. Closing her eyes, she took the path of least resistance.
I was ridiculed by a peddling hope -it was more than a wish- which penetrated my already damaged tissues. Working silently, passionate in its defence of you, it produced faithful copies inside my flawed mind that quickly overwhelmed my defences. An interloper, a parasite of my stark choice and the odd assortment of your leftovers. Why did I allow it to delve into the darkest sides of an irrationality existing within my mental construct? Tormenting in itself, it will embrace the vast wonderland of an idolised image that violently reneges on any undertaking made as to be shed and leave me.
Here I am, on a flying trapeze hung from my knees float like a cloud flip and twist. I swing and focus to each technique barefoot, an amateur artist a hundred meters above the ground proof I exist. I know my demise will come if I ease into comfort. Afraid not to fall for the timorous hearts the net is the trap. The bleachers are full the jostling crowd roars all together in rhythm clap their hands a feat of bravery on view. Inactiveness, this vampire bat, squeals and hovers around. When the lights are out, it will feed on my blood.
With no evidence to the contrary you, the nonesuch of perfection unequalled is your poise, at the acme of your youth, I kneel before your majesty. Comparable to an unflawed diamond you, my forever love like a gold-dipped rose that lasts forever Your tales of fantasy vanquish my naïve realism another dimension. Your notion of truth, plain, poetic revealed in your grin. A vortex of emotions in the sphere of altruism interrogating, piercing eyes -simply, exude love- alight they are with confusion to the maladies of this world I would die for you –
Mired in the glutinous mud, they weep silent tears when the putrid smell of forlornness is near and the birds fly out in unison. A forlorn hope, once more, inhabits the black hole of feebleness. And while they wait for the melody to start, they cringe as if the sound of an old violin is hitting the wrong notes. Thus, days and nights shrivel up, left in the scorching sun to wither and fade.
A cry for help that went unnoticed, silent was your middle name. Well…yet, you screamed as if persecuted by returning echoes. The choice I made to shut my ears to the husky whispers. What hurts me more – I pretended not to hear That day I saw you What if…I cared still?
When the plates of earth collided, a valley was formed. In the middle of it a rugged hill lies, by no man ever crossed. Covered in maggots outside and in, an apple hangs from a stunted tree. Attached from its stalk, loaded with stigma, spotted with smirch. Rendered anathema, a miasma of heinousness among the golden apples forbidden to be in the mellow light of sunset, disallowed to be bathed in. Until it falls and it rolls and enters the Garden, flimsy the borders, it rests on the ground -Daughters of the evening, you left it unguarded.- The soil turns black, the last dewdrop disappears to drain the energy of them all, its final frontier. Now a shady tree stands, bearing ignominious fruits its dastardly soul extends and multiplies its roots. Soon, it takes over most of the bloom its ugliness debases the grace, rotting leaves cling to prickly branches, the air is pervaded by a stench of decay. Oppressed by something darker, the land will always be. Intertwined though good and evil are, subordination of one over the other persists.
Two ships navigated the east unfurled their sails, filled by the wind in the course of the night to anchor no need. On the rock face she stood -white capped waves hugged the shore- wondering if she could… a further escape to pursue. Liberty and Autonomy the ships’ names were their bows and sterns with fire burst the glow from it warm and blazes spread fierce like a storm. The captains appointed resembled mighty beasts epic their voyage, undertaken by order of no king. Never did the logbook detail destination to a port the vessels’ crews immortal souls. By joining them, she would travel evermore in a quest to set off to find peace a thousand times she wished. Before dawn, she was lost in the sea…
Lefcothea-Maria Golgaki was born in 1977 and lives in Athens, Greece. Her first poetry collection was published by Adelaide Literary Magazine in 2019. Part of that collection also appeared in Mediterranean Poetry, Aphelion webzine and Eskimo Pie. One of her poems also appeared in Adelaide Literary Award Anthology. Her stories have appeared in magazines like Bright Flash Review and Twin&Twain and Flash Fiction North. In April 2022 Scars Publications released a collection book under the name “The Ice that was” in which her poems were also included. In November 2022 Scars Publication published more of her poems in a collection book named “Τhe 2023 poetry review date book”. Finally, her article ‘Life of uncertainty’ has been published by The Sentinel and Tri-town Tribune. In Greece, she is a published writer of children’s books and many of her articles appear in magazines and newspapers.
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