Aurora's Kingdom of Delirium

May 27

May 27 Aurora's Kingdom of Delirium

Danielle Amorim

Poetry

Our Aurora was bright like silken sun rays,
spun from the longest of summer days.

Her spirits so sparkling and heavenly high,
they almost offended the might of the skies.

Beloved by all, berated by none,
blessed were all the things that our Aurora had done.

But all light must succumb, all days must end in night,
and this is how our fairest Aurora ended up in plight.

With a roll of a dice, distorted in reflections,
the worlds put forth a hex of detrimental proportions.

Twas’ a curse most maleficent,
brought on by a prick of a needle.

Shrouded with webs of rumours and riddles,
that no man dare have tweedled.

It tipped and it turned, twisted and twittered,
dwindled and drowned, spiked and slithered.

And soon was Aurora riddled and rooted,
with an affliction so sly, soft, and smoothed.

We sent our Aurora to the Kingdom of Delirium:

I do not recognize this as a curse anymore. A hundred years of sleep can feel so comforting. To not burn so brightly can be a relief.

To not be so close to the sky means it’s a shorter way down when you fall.

However, I cannot lie and say I wouldn’t give it all

just for one more day as golden sun rays,

spun from summer days.

Blankets, they have become items of the heart,

covers, hiding places, houses of cards.

Fool me once, fool me twice, fool me almost every night.

Replenished under the blankets?

Not under this sun,

nor under this moon.

Not any time soon.

The nights are restless, never-ending-ly long, and yet too shaking-ly short.

Dreams are delirious,

drinking up dreads of the day and hopes of tomorrows.

Sorrows, sorrows,

covered in sleepy glee, they roll like cinema scenes.

Tiresome, is existence in the Kingdom of Delirium, but it is home, after all.

Witches and knights both alike,

have tried to cut down the strings that so cleverly hold me in the drowsy tower.

And the princes have offered their kisses of life,

to end the succumbing slumber,

if they might.

Their armies they promised to fight

though the thickest of brambles,

and to slay the dragons that breathe sweet soft clouds of smoke…

Sedate,

S-e-d-a-t-e

Oh, prince of Provigil, he who claims to be a steady flame,

to end the curse of curses by never feeling strain.

A foolish quest, destined to fail,

as he did not respect the slumber of hell.

He was the first to flee,

only after he stirred my sleep,

a dragon caught his head,

and incinerated his steed.

He was no match to the mighty Kingdom, drowsiness, delirium, he drifted to ash.

Oh, righteous Ritalin, the Duke of drums, who rages and kicks in the blood, who whips the heart into a frenzy. Awaken, awaken, he screams, seething with brute force,

and for a second the slumber relents and opens the doors.

But his forces cannot hold the enemy at bay forever, and it is only a matter of time until the heart can no longer bear the constant beatings, to push the doors open. And so, they close.

Last but not least, Xyrem, the Lord of shadows, who rules over this land of delirium with a swift hand of black-out catharsis, strong enough to shackle the mind and rip out dreams in one great roar–

he took to the floor.

Not even he who is Lord of these lands,

can play against the curse with the best of hands.

When the dust settles so subtle and sweet, the sounds all silent,

surrender succinct.

I sit on my morbid throne,

lost in the mind-ness and yet not alone.

So still, so serene, my kingdom at my feet,

the hand of my enemy so blaringly discreet,

clasps my paling palm, and whispers

of ecstatic defeat.

Aces, aces, endless nights, endless chases,