The Others
Part I
II
With one heart blinded, two eyes
Could see the day, but there was
No light in the attic whatsoever;
No one enlightened to endeavour
Finding fault with the dim murk
In which more than dust did lurk
Unthreatened on the bookshelves
And on the written tales themselves
Of which Loo became the teller.
Loo was Brizo, and Pit a seafarer.
The one offering he could afford;
What a wretch could offer a lord,
Was bogus obedience that she'd
Accepted; it felt true for he shed
Some tears on an old photograph
Of a father who was once tough,
And also saintly, but now buried.
Zeal got him to his grave carried.
His ghost made welcome the tale.
Pit, with Loo, had zilch to bewail.
And so, the third hour of the night
Brought an abrupt end to the fight
That had started inside Pit's mind,
For the truth his demons maligned
Had keepers, though old and weary.
Now entered Loo, fair like a fairy.
But to Pit, she was unsympathetic.
Not a wand, but a throbbing stick,
He imagined in her chapped hand
In which was held a book instead.
YOU ARE READING
The Others
Poetry"They deceived us, and deceived themselves, the quiet-voiced elders, bequeathing us merely a receipt for deceit." said Loo, feeling almost all-knowing, almost sorry, once she reached the end of Four Quartets, wondering when her story shall begin. An...
