Apollo’s Lament ~ ANNIE DIZON

Apollo’s Lament

ANNIE DIZON

Powdery sand of gold, divine drops of crystallized ambrosia dribbled down from the lips of the Heavens, flickered aglow by the ocher rays of dusk. A stark contrast to shining cerulean swells speckled with the crash of white-caps far beyond the sandbar. Soft rollers tumble effortlessly upon the smoothened shore as if collapsing into the arms of a lover once torn away— they rush towards each other, legs racing rapidly, fastened to feet that hardly graze the ground, arms pumping to the pulse of tender, unscathed hearts. They collide, unruly flitting fingers clutching on to anything they sense in their grasp. Such is the youthful kind of unrestrained lust, a uniquely frenzied insatiability, a sort of violent passion even the most malignant of stars cannot thwart —intertwined, so the rollers and shore become inseparable again. The clouds dance along limitless horizons, twirling across Earth in a ballroom with no boundaries, moving in symphony to the zephyrs’ syncopated song accelerando: crescendo to fortissimo, lightning strikes with the blustering blasts of a raging storm adagio: diminuendo to pianissimo, sails fill with the whispering winds of an indolent breeze. I soar across the open sky, gazing upon my carefully curated exhibition of flawless creations, my Elysium of beauty. Yet a flash from the fin of a flying fish lures my eyes, windborne, only for a second, he flutters above his watery prison, chasing after the setting sun. A forsaken child, a woeful boy, abandoned. Deserted to drown in the depths of the fathomless waters, as his father forged on leaving only a tear to sacrifice to the vast abyss below. A lonely, lamentable demise manufactured into a parable to memorize; the drowned Icarus gliding over the ocean on his scaled wings still trying to touch the Heavens.