Oracular

poem

Iris Shaw

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Underneath the hill I have lain

Bound by the dark, some thousand years ago

To utter tricks and nameless prophecies

Eyeless seeing; tongueless, speaking

Dreaming of the world above

Not here to rise, I, but to dream your dreams,

Taste the bitter dark behind

Your nameless promises; I hear

And obey, after my own fashion;

I’ve eaten of your prayers and mouthed

Riddles in an antiquated murmur,

Devoured your gifts and savoured none,

Satisfied the pensive and the doomed;

Who is pleased, but I and my private god?

I am past life and hope of death –

Ask again, unbind my mouth,

You’ll find I’m only bones; ridden, old, I cry

Ask more, if you will,

I am blind

I cannot see.