"lachesis" poems
Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos
the trio we know as “the Fates”
Were discussing the fate of some poet
while calmly ******* on dates.
“At best Sisters, he’s merely adequate.
Sure, he knows his rhythm and rimes.
But when they compile an anthology
will his poems merit more than three lines?”
“Some of his verses are Humorous”
“You’ll grant me that, Clotho, at least.”
“Other times he takes himself too serious,
and behaves like some priggish high priest”
“Atropos, where is my measuring rod?
All too soon he’ll meet us face to face.”
“Here is the fate I have chosen.
Take your shears and mark well the place.”
The fruit made Atropos’ grasp slippery
A lock of hair fell in her face.
The poet got more than allotted
It was sheer dumb luck in his case
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 7:07 PM UTC
no one can fathom
their mercurial will
no one can know
what life will fulfill
I've tempted fate
I live on borrowed time
because I've met you
I've experienced the sublime
when Lachesis cuts
woven threads of my life
I'll look back on moments
of happiness and strife
my life's constance is love
your smile is my bliss
while I'm still alive
your happiness is my wish
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 1:31 AM UTC
watch me tear myself apart
at your altar
to gain a life i hardly know
and i will dream of nothing
but these nights
high darling
love is out there waiting
for you and i
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 1:54 PM UTC
the fenris wolf is bound by
a cat's footfall
the breath of fish
the beards of women
and perhaps your regret
you follow a high note
until it reaches an inaudible frequency
you told me I was your golden pedestal
but I was only a stepping stone
and now you're swimming naked
through the river of success
let me tell you
life is not a one night stand
with some military man
who will dip his brush in alcohol
and stroke you with his stupor
life is not a ****** ****
it is a hard bargain
and I think lachesis
would be disappointed.
Aug 18, 2010
Aug 18, 2010 at 5:58 PM UTC
I miss the solace of your blue and citrine eyes
the anxious twist of the zephyrs in my core
Stilled near you,
Standing in cool shadows beneath an oak—
The heart tree your parents
Planted when you were born
still mewling as white coats pricked your tiny feet
The hunger they induced that never quite left you.
Still, under your branches
I was safe.
I remember the night
Lachesis plucked a few more inches
From her spool
And you wrapped them around your finger
Driven by ****** of dread
Drew me into your arms, clinging to the spaces between my hips and ribs
Whispering into the curve of my neck
that if you released me into starlight
Erebus would ****** me away from you.
And I had not doubted that you loved me
But feeling your caged panic
I learned the wings of your heart were strong enough to bend mine.
In the dark I am more skittish now
Untangling our threads
I unraveled the Moirai’s veil.
Alone,
I am under the crimson eye of too many men
Now that I am not
The apple of yours.
The Graeae glance down from their mountain
Holding their eye above an abyss
Words I always wanted said are
poisoned by unwanted lips.
The restless zephyr in my stomach stirs
Searching the nearest escape route.
And the softer tint of the world
has turned hard again.
But you are still the nearest sanctuary
And maybe it is selfish
To think of you so
But I hope I am still the same
For you.
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 12:41 PM UTC
A lonely boy lays in his bed
Memories and thoughts drift through his head
Thoughts of a girl begin to snow
And fall through his mind, but she’ll never know
How much she means, maybe years from now
She’ll realize, looking back, and knowing how
He looked at her, but it’s too late
For them to try again, for even fate
Has shed its tears, for love unreaped
The go their way, Lachesis sleeps
The two live on, a pair unmatched
the boy never forgets, his heart unlatched
And through the years, the earth forgets
But the boy, now a man, will never let
The thought of her, his girl, his love
Ever fade, for they’ll meet above
A wise, old man sleeps in his bed
Memories and thoughts drift through his head
Thinking of his long lived life
And holding through his pain and strife
Was the memory of the girl so close
The beauty of the sea, the smell of a rose
He thinks of her, peaceful once more
He takes a breath, and gently lets go
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 3:32 PM UTC
Lost in the desert at night, a maze of stairs reveals the myth.
Neon sign, beside a paan-red smile, pairs—revealing the myth.
Clotho has ringlets, Lachesis slanted eyes, Aisa laugh lines,
Weaving tapestry of rapturous affairs, reveal the myth.
Who plays the distant sārangī? Who pours the quenching nectar?
Falling into stride behind Inanna's heirs reveals the myth.
Those intimate moments trace the tangible warmth on her skin.
In proud destitution, a desire she wears: reveals the myth.
Sand trickles through his anxious fingers, the mirage disappears.
At dawn fugitive memories Tashir bears. The revealed myth.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 2:58 AM UTC
If hempen cloth to paupers garb is made,
Grey daubed as hearth'd ash, rough as firewood kindling,
And for each king, gold silken raiments laid,
Bright as the jesters smock for courtly mingling,
What garment fit for thee Clotho would make?
Unto her spindle all threads are first woven,
And of thy lot? Why, Lachesis would take!
And gift to Atropos to see thee cloven!
Who then should fret to say my garb is drab?
Tis not thine outer skin three fates have wrought,
So of thine self, judge not thy bone, thy flab,
For in thee, fates have spun all thou has sought!
Thy measured lot was cast afore thy waking,
And strength in thee to set the heavens shaking!
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
O, Clotho, what thought have you to weave such jests?
No mortal thought toward you against!
Thy nimble hands, they weave too quick,
a braided thread, nay long nor thick.
Upon Lachesis, yon thread is passed,
who keeps it in her lissome grasp.
A long, long life, ordeals a'plenty,
in thy mind's eye, distill wrath or envy.
Atropos, friend of Hades dear,
Hag of ages, mortal's seer!
A duty trusted unto thy blade
Evanescent and fleeting we must remain.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 4:31 PM UTC
i am no longer a girl;
my body has played host
to the fourth of the Fates,
and this is the twilight, unfolding.
the midday has seen clotho, spinning the thread
has seen lachesis measuring it, atropos cutting it.
and here i sit, a figure in the sunset —
a silhouette of a weaver in tattered dress
my heartbeat, a substandard thread,
a mess in my pockets
getting shorter and shorter
with each wound sewn shut
and yet,
a seagull's flap,
a poke of a stick,
and all these stitches come undone.
a cautious breath,
a loosened thread,
and the sunsets learn a new shade of red.
Jan 14, 2020
Jan 14, 2020 at 4:38 AM UTC
within us lies something so resplendent that it appears
void, an endless nihility, from which your singularity is grown
We all know the trope of nothing becoming something, a crane lamenting to the orbs above, flowers opening with the fall.
You've seen the time lapses, you know the spin around us. Yet nothing could be farther from our reality. We weren't built to be nothing, we weren't built from nothing. Lachesis draws for us, but her luck is strong. There isn't reason to believe otherwise.
Enveloping our corporeal flesh, resolving away our dissolve, filling us up from the outside and pooling into the hollows of our eyelids, we forget to find wisdom in emptiness
Lost inside the flow of time, hands outstretched, fingers melting through our friends, our parents, our lovers, the human population revolves around revolutions, anchored in place by only the weakest force in the universe
Held down by the stuff that composes planets, moons, stars, all pointless to us
The only thing that matters lays at our feet, trod upon day and night, it lays in our chests, wrenched from our chests, lays at our feet, and is trampled.
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC