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by John  Midkiff

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(“Ithaca” mobile version)

• I seek.
• Emerald waves shine, jutting through dissolving white caps,
• Razor sharp tips interrupted only by the solitary white sentinels.

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• I walk.
• An elder kneels before a sentinel, tears flow from him into the sea below.
• The silent guardian does not respond, weather-worn it is still.

 

• I search.
• Number, Name, Letter, evade my pursuit, Ithaca remains lost to me.
• Section 60 appears, the gods show favor. My quest nears end.

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• I find.
• Another sentinel marks this place.10464. Weight bears down on me.
• Approaching my Ithaca, The putrid pull of Styx sweeps me away.

 

• I fall.
• Voices whisper, dull, ceaseless. Sirens beckon. Rogers arrogant, Taylor’s love, Fenn’s
• support, Wild’s carelessness. Soft song of the past ripples around me

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• I breathe.
• Eyes open, knees wet, trembling. My fists hammer the spiked expanse before me.
• The stalwart guardian looms, my fingers trace the unfeeling surface. It offers no comfort.

 

• I beg.
• The Fates edge rived wrong. Beseeching the God’s my spirit breaks.
• Their names for mine. Olympus does not hear my bargain.

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• I feel.
• The jagged turf sea roots me seeping its wet lifeblood through me. Shivering.
• A hawk screams into the cherry-blossom scented air. My head sinks. This is not my Ithaca.

 

• I freeze.
• The mind screams to flee as the whispers return. Their unrelenting grip holds me
• My warrior brothers reside with noble Achilles now. They beckon me to join.

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• I weep.
• Tears carve down my face creating an offering. Cool marble presses to my head.
• We trained for war, I am unprepared for this. I forsake the quest for my Ithaca.

 

• I want.
• Desire burns hot. A longing to join the fallen, to end my insufferable loneliness. The
• warmth spreads. My home is with them. Ithaca has fallen.

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• I stand.
• The white sentinels stare back silently stretching out of sight. The final resting place of
• The damp grass clings coolly to my knees. The old man stands.

 

• I hope.
• The elder nods to me. Understanding forms. Ithaca is not lost. The whispers clear
• This end is a beginning, struggle on, fight on. My Ithaca lies elsewhere.

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I wander.

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