The Death of Whydah Sibyl
Stand at ocean-side, exhale screams
cut through dense air, her throat tightens
releasing weird screeching caterwauls.
The ice melts and Sibyl climbs the tower;
in gown of white with gold lace; coat-less,
barefoot and cold, warm sunrise is soon.
Covered in darkness, within the icy dream
cursing those of pious dogma and reform
wearing a studded gemstone black collar;
gifted from her knight now dearly departed.
Deep within the throes of welcomed death,
Whydah Sibyl reaches with gnarly fingers;
breathless as water drips from castle walls.
Reciting, "as the dead are never truly gone;
unless they are totally forgotten by the living.
My life; a coolish sea breeze, stormy at dawn;
entranced, raving mad as a boiled chicken."
Whydah Sibyl still sings her lovelorn sonnet.
In dreams she walks through shafts of wheat,
humming the lost dirges from days long ago.
dancing in fields of tall maize, her love departs;
falling down upon bare knees, she screams.
As blood from those buried within the earth
bubbles and rises up; slowly disappearing.
Raise your head dear Sibyl, eyes open wide,
look into the stellar night, as the Moon's,
face is now cast into a full brightening glow.
Fly dear Sibyl, high into the clear black sky,
smile in a soft light, your dear knight awaits.
Leaping and humming silent night, she goes,
into a crest of a wave, claddagh ring clenched.
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