Passion burns the shores of Tuonela
A searing presence, a trembling archer
Scarred hands on an unsteady bowstring
And doubt comes forward, eclipsing all my radiance.
My flame grows cold, thought is a fog upon the river
Questions turn entrancing over the silent waters
Beneath their chilled obscurity
Lies the River of Death.
Behind the mist, beneath the solid surface
The face of Lemminkainen shatters my reflection.
As if all certainty were rotting with him.
A specter’s gaze, the bloated eyes of warning
Valor plucked by nibbles as the fish grow larger.
I train my arrow on his failures
But my mind is a frightened beast once more.
I see the swan now, sliding like grace across the water.
Her black wings folded, her head low
Still, transfixing
A beauty that feeds all starving souls.
Once again, I have forgotten how to know better.
My bowstring tenses, my heartbeat shakes the steady shore
And even the moment holds its breath
Land and river, life and death
Past and future promised in her saddened eyes.
The death mask of my rival mocks me as I aim
Is your past my future, bitter one?
Or would my future be your past?
Past is future, essence is existence
Hurt and hurting become one
Wedded like doom to my unseen moments
“I do.”
I am.
And the scream of a slackening bowstring
Gives both my answer and my fate.
