That Which Flows Unseen by M. Everett Hinckley © 1988
There is a sound I'm hearing,
more seductive than a whisper,
A faint alluring call,
Coming from inside an ominous cliff,
Through a waterfall.
A great pond lays before me,
Propagated by the falling,
All mankind hears this call,
An ancient but sturdy, old, oaken raft,
Floats me through the watery wall.
There are lovely eyes of jade,
Shimmering with longing cold,
Eyes of a lovely nymph,
She possesses and inquisitive stare,
Her song flows like lymph.
With her eyes she absorbed all,
And so she silently spoke,
Much was told by the nymph,
Looping, fascinating eyes like Escher prints,
Oh! complex little nymph.
There is a relentless heart,
Which forever pumps it's heat,
That the little nymph can share,
Yet in her delightful and artful restraint,
One might not know it is there.
Innocence and finesse,
Further beautify the sweet child,
Yet, those eyes seem to dare,
In her curvaceous and supple figure,
Flows heat and so she cares.
Through her gentle, warm flesh that,
come hell and brimstone I must hold,
Would her caring warmth stay?
Under a crown of perfumed hair, dark and deep,
a caring smile lay.
Of logical perfection,
And shear humanity is she,
An irony, per se,
An enthralling irony the nymph has,
Did I tell her this, nay.
I see a figure in the darkness,
We are observed by a musing coiled snake,
In an eerie grotto is where I float,
Past the water wall's path that I take.
I feel talons sink in my skin,
From strange birds that greet me,
The moist breathing walls echo my nymph's song,
I am surrounded by new, inexplicable beauty.
Wet lips caress and warm matter flows,
The coiled snake hisses and my little nymph laughs,
"We are the creatures of my guardian",
States the siren with her soft playful laugh.
The snake, coiled about my throat, leads me in,
Now I have joined the menagerie,
But I am unsure if I am to stay,
Hence, appears the fork of the river cave, two paths lay eerily.
The coiled serpent hisses at the sight,
The birds screech and fly rampantly,
Nervously, my nymph grows restless,
Like at a plundered treasure, I gaze curiously.
The nymph speaks of the fork,
"The right flows to a place of harmonious union,
The left races discordantly,
As does Styx, to self illusion".
The air begins to twist by a desperate torque,
By the guardian's loving decree,
She knows both paths to be forbidden,
Her crime already committed, for cave and fork did the stranger see.
Singular sounds and sensations,
From the left do I feel,
Something alluring, something meretricious,
My sensible rind begins to peel.
She had committed the initial crime,
In her liking of the stranger,
I beckon her to journey with me,
Beguiled, we enter danger.
