Oracular
poem
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.




This--in combination with the eerie photo--made me think of Tiresias as TS Eliot sees him.....