by Tenebris

Created on: June 30, 2008

Waiting for a friend

Rhadamanthos glances up from his stacks of ledgers
at the pale ghost before him, eyes new-sealed
before the Messenger touches them lightly with his wand
it blinks and looks around
touching its armour where the parts no longer meet
leaps for a phantom spear at the wand's caress
but a soft touch calms, confuses
it stares, frowning.
Be gentle with this one, O judge

Rhadamanthos closes his book, brushes the wand
Away, Messenger, go seek your sunlight:
this one and I shall have words
before he drinks with his companions this night.
The winged Guide only repeats as he flees
Be gentle.
The judge leans back, waiting;
memory light sparks in the sudden bright eyes: I was Patroklos?
Rhadamanthos smiles:
Tell me, Patroklos
did your mother know when she birthed you
that your life's purpose would be
to die?
A rattle of ghostly armour:
All men die. If I died to purpose it is enough.
Enough, plaything of the fates? They spun your life
from the cradle, not a childish ball that you threw
but it was recorded in bright thread,
not a spear you cast but a spider wove its path.
The ghost looks at its spear:
Is this the torment they speak of? if so it is light;
all men know to whom they must answer
Where do I go? or am I to listen
for eternity?
The teeth glint in Rhadamanthos' smile:
Certainly you may go, if you do not wish to wait
for your friend.
Now the ghost trembles: So soon?
So soon, mocks Rhadamanthos: see there the purpose
of your death,
of your fate.
But the dead eyes blaze with a living fire
and the phantom arms seize the living throat:
Hear me, judge.
I will await my friend
We will go together and drink from the forgetful river
As I served him above, so will they serve him below
even you
Though the divinity flows in his veins
we both serve the fates' whims
as must all men
even those who have become gods, Rhadamanthos!
I am more alive than you.
It drops him in a heap
stalking silently away
the daylight streaming from his eyes
the judge stares after him clutching his throat
though it hurts
he laughs long and hard
but the ghost does not look back
Kerberos yawns
the pale young queen glances curiously at him from her stone coffin

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