The Outsider (Part II)

This is a continuation. To start from the beginning, click here.

Witchy Thomas, Cassandra of renown,
Tried to warn them, but
She never revealed her Arts and Sciences,
Or her seven sisters. Look, she mumbled,
Here one comes, my starry-robed sister with the globe and compasses,
(Who is that strange whitebeard at her side? Goo!)
Here is Mathilda, long-fingered and wise,
A multiplying ray bursting from her forehead.
Here is the girl with the crown of stars, the girl with the scalpel and pens,
And here is the gal with the cloak and shield, and this one,
Her hair in elaborate rolls, holds a serpent and carries a wax tablet,
And secrets a fishhook. I do not see
My sister Harmonia. Innocence is drowned.
No one can close this door, nor darken this shining path.
There you have it. She met Grahame too late,
Else things may have turned out differently:
So can say history’s fortunate few.

Strange and piercing dream,
Through the time that passes his life,
Sinners in the hands of an angry musician, he said,
He will make wide slaughter in this land.
Still, we reasoned, one is not more than one,
And so ignored this soggy lobby greeter.
Carried our hero on our shoulders around the gazebo,
Where the Ragbags exchanged their vows,
With joy-soaked oblivion of the approaching storm.
I bumped into an old friend, shook him and yelled ‘Boonie!
‘Remember me from Al-Rabiah?
‘That guy we knew who put out his eyes with the golden broach,
‘Did you keep in touch with him? How’s his family?
‘Too bad he missed this spectacle!
‘His anarchic principles, which I found most illogical,
‘Would have been no match for our community spirit!
‘Damn skippy! va prier contre l’orage,–va prier!’

For the next installment, click here.