Curse of the siren’s suitors

December 4, 2016

waves

When she sings they listen in rapture,
not so much to her words but her voice,
a voice that contains all manner of things:
dregs, dreams, delights and darkling promises,
a distillation of what they would possess.

When they cross the water with eager hands
upon the oars, backs stretched, arms wide
against the waves, eyes open and gleaming,
they listen in rapture not so much to the
songs she sings as to how she sings them,
not her words but what her voice conveys.

They listen in rapture as the hull shatters
and the masts crack and they dash their
bodies upon the rocks of her cave.

Bruce Boston

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