A lyrical epyllion
By: C. B. Tibbets
Prelude
A spirituous din permeates through the brume,
Unveiling a lone tavern’s soiree.
'Tis here amongst surfeit: wine, women, and song,
The lechers exercise their forte.
Their gaiety rouses the bleak city streets,
This tavern a repose from the blight.
From which the Bacchic chorus, and sanguine glow,
Are a sigil beheld in the night.
“Behold a lone tavern! What good fortune is this?!”
A band of wanton boys shout and cry.
They set off through the streets, toward the lone tavern,
With intent not unclear to descry.
They pause just before they proceed through the door,
For a raspy voice pleads them to yield.
A haggard old beggar has stopped the young boys,
And he croaks, “Heed the wisdom I wield!”
The young boys are rapt by the spellbinding sight,
For they can ne'er believe what they see.
The beggar’s eyes glow, and the wind starts to blow,
As he summons forth great sorcery.
“O’ sacred Völva! I invoke thee to sing,
The ballad of thy roseate lips!
And vest in me the great wisdom of Freyja,
To tell of brotherhood and hardships.”
The sacred Völva heeds the old beggar’s call,
With her blessing the tale shall be told.
Thus, Freyja’s wisdom compels the old beggar
To now sing of a phrase in the fold.
Canto I
From the north! The gallop of horses draws near.
Two brothers ride the brood of Sleipnir.
Wherefore this libidinous southward crusade?
For the boys the inducements are clear!
The fiery ardor that burns from within,
Unabated by rime's harsh arrest,
Impels them to journey with haste from the north,
And set off on this perilous quest.
They swiftly make way through the great bosom’s vale,
And embark 'cross the prone ventral plains.
The brothers ride hard, with their scourges in hand,
Hence the coursers keep wind in their manes.
Mathew cries, “Now we shall scale the mons pubis!”
And the horses are therefore dismissed,
Then Colby avers, “To the apex we’ll climb!
Perforce! Dear brother, let us persist!”
The brothers engage in the daring ascent,
They mind not of the perils below.
Bravely, they vanquish the mons pubis summit,
And begin to traverse the plateau.
But soon they are stopped by a thunderous sound,
‘Tis the din of a great battle drum.
Shifting their gaze to the distant horizon,
They espy that the Pthirus have come.
Rank and file, they amassed in formation,
Battalions of ten thousand or more.
The army advanced at an ominous pace,
With each step, a step closer to war.
But the brothers stood fearless, steadfast in rank.
Their weapons, both the axe and the sword.
With Puer Aeternus etched in their Dalkon shields,
They’re prepared for the oncoming horde.
They unsheathe their swords as the legions approach,
The semblance of the Pthirus now clear.
Each misshapen face was a sinful disgrace,
And their form was inhuman and queer.
Colby exclaims, “On my signal, we charge!”
But then Mathew quips hesitantly,
“Dear brother, adduce some just validation
To verify that you outrank me?”
Colby cries out, “There isn’t time, we must charge!”
But Mathew was reluctant to yield.
And as Colby pleads, Mathew raises his sword
And cries, “Charge!” ‘cross the vast battlefield.
The brothers assault the great legions with force.
A parry! A riposte! A coulé!
With broadswords drawn, they strike many down.
But grow weak from the massive foray.
The steady assail of the great Pthirus ranks
Soon render their swords obsolete.
Perchance they shall ne’er quell an army so strong?
Perchance the brothers suffer defeat?
Soon they’re surrounded, and exposed to attack.
Alas! The mortals can’t conjure spells.
But then Colby cries, “We’ll fight with our axes,
To penetrate the beasts’ chitin shells!”
A jarring offensive was quickly engaged,
With the axes on which they both shred.
The prowess, the force, and the sheer amplitude
Quickly rendered the Pthirus ranks dead.
The battle is won, and the brothers make camp,
Amidst the heathland’s underbrush.
‘Tis here they retire, ensconced for the night,
Where the mood remains solemn and hushed.
The air is obscured by a cool viscid mist,
Made pallid by the ivory moonlight.
And through this dank haze lies the carrion mass
of the damned souls struck down in the fight.
Suddenly! A shrill chorus calls from the sky.
A raven’s murder comes for the beasts.
Their black shadows dance in the ivory moonlight
As they devour their carrion feast.
Colby cries out, “What evil summoned these birds?
What foul demon has conjured this flock?”
In horror, they watch the birds feast on the dead.
Their innards turn with each raven’s squawk.
The brothers brood over the day’s bloody fight,
And the leader behind this campaign.
Then Mathew sneers, “today the Valkyries rode,
to decree that we shall not be slain!”
Colby dismisses such foolish allusions.
And with sharp tone is quick to protest,
“Pompous resolve will destroy us my brother,
And impudence will hinder our quest.”
“Look to the days we had spent under hospice,
Where we labored sans pension or pay.
Our fealty was sworn to Dr. Gräfenberg,
An Adel of the highest cachet."
“’Twas our allegiance to the wise doctor’s work,
And modesty in light of his grace,
That vouchsafed this chance to become wiser men,
If we locate his clandestine place.”
“This prospect is truly a blessing on us,
Perforce, we shall engage it, we must!
We've been chosen to find the Gräfenberg spot,
For we've proven we’re worthy and just!”
“But, Colby! Can you not recall the roué?
The wise doctor would boast to no ends!
Was he such a saint when he would quaff gaily,
And bed down with his womanly friends?”
Colby retorts, "Now belay that dear brother!"
For his wisdom, you can't understand.
You haven't the right to protest the wise doctor,
For he's offered us his guiding hand.
Colby retorts, "Now belay that dear brother!"
For his wisdom, you can't understand.
You haven't the right to protest the wise doctor,
For he's offered us his guiding hand.
The campfire cedes to the midnight abyss,
As the two brothers lie down to rest.
Then Colby grumbles, “My dear younger brother,
Your acumen does not serve you best.”
Canto II
The morning sun’s glimmer awakens the heath,
And the brothers set off once again.
Now farther south, where the undergrowth thickens,
To a place oft concealed and arcane.
Southward along, the bush is now overhead,
The sun lost in the dense canopy.
And through the fey twilight, the two brothers trek,
But in darkness ‘tis grueling to see.
Dithering and doubt befalls the two brothers,
They bicker about what they should do.
Mathew cries out, “Let us seek vestal maidens!
Whom we’re surely more fit to pursue.”
“No, no! Come this way, my dear younger brother.”
Asserts Colby with haughty disgust.
“My intuition is perceptive and keen,
Whilst your judgment is muddled by lust.”
Suddenly! The faint sound of laughter is heard
From a rift in the forest ahead.
In concord, they cease their trifling squabble
And pursue the strange mirth’s source instead.
As they draw closer, the laughter grows louder.
Daylight brighter, as darkness abates.
Soon they emerge in the great cleft of Venus,
Where the eerie laughter resonates.
Led into the vale; the great cleft of Venus,
Their interest has ceased to diminish.
Farther and deeper, they follow the laughter.
Then silence, the laughter has finished.
“And what say you now, my wise older brother?”
Cracks Mathew with stinging derision.
Then Colby cries out, “Curb your ire dear brother,
Recall, this was both our decision.”
Suddenly! A shadowy spectre appears,
And the laughter is heard all around.
But eftsoons the shadowy spectre appeared,
The spectre cannot seem to be found!
The brothers move forward ambivalently,
Until laughter is heard in their wake.
Then they turn swiftly, and witness the spectre.
But, Alas! ‘Tis a phony, a fake!
They both stood bewildered, and caught by intrigue.
Perhaps they've made some sort of blunder?
But the brothers were fixed, entranced by the sight,
The fiend was a nonesuch of wonder.
“I created the cacophonous cackle!
And with candor I’ve come to confess,
I cleverly cause quite complex contretemps
When convenient affairs coalesce."
A reprobate smirk crossed its rubicund face,
Eyes veiled beneath a dark crimson hood.
It gamboled about in a long prepuce cloak,
Amused by being misunderstood.
"Alas! ye brothers are too sage for deceit
And for you I'll be sweet as orris.
Without further ado, I must say to you,
I'm the one and only Clitoris!”
Mathew cries, “Prithee, delight us Clitoris!”
“We’ve grown jaded on this wretched quest.”
But Colby avers, “Mind not my young brother,
We’ve no time for your jape, jibe, or jest”
“A Quest? A Quest!” Exclaimed the droll Clitoris,
Quite aroused by the notion of this.
It says, “Perchance ye share all that which ye seek?”
“And perchance I share my expertness?”
Colby replies, “What sort of credence have you?”
“Such a jester, I dare not to trust.”
Then Mathew cries, “We seek the Gräfenberg spot!”
“For we’ve shown we are worthy and just!”
“The Gräfenberg spot!” The Clitoris replied.
“Perchance boyhood ye seek freedom from?
Scores of brave heroes have sought after this place,
But ne’er consummate for what they’ve come.”
Colby avers, “We heed the wise doctor’s word!”
“And what?” Says the Clitoris with glee.
“If the Gräfenberg spot is that which ye seek,
‘Tis paramount to hearken to me.”
“Heed to this warning once beyond the threshold,
Boys are oft times claimed by their fervor,
You must resist any carnal temptations,
Or forsake your soul for the failure.”
“At last! Be cautious of the maelstrom ahead,
If the Gräfenberg spot has been found.
‘Tis here, amongst a most perilous torrent,
Where many a brave hero has drowned.”
“Will you kindly advise where this threshold lies?”
Colby squeaks rather innocently.
The Clitoris just smirks, and coyly replies,
“I just may, if you pander to me.”
“Alas!” Colby cries, “You shall ne’er cozen me!
A boorish swindler is all you are!
Anon! Return to the devil that sent you.
O’ Clitoris, I bid you au revoir.”
“So be it!” The mirthful Clitoris retorts,
“Ye brothers are quite pious and bold!
But be warned that bereft of my potion’s aid,
‘Tis futile to seek out the threshold.”
Mathew cries, “Speak of this potion Clitoris,
Prithee, tell of its great sorcery.”
The Clitoris then shouts, ‘Tis fine Brandywine!
Brewed with roots of the Yggdrasil tree!”
“Once you’re consumed by my great potion’s power,
Ye brothers shall be lucid and wise.
Imbued with the wisdom to find all ye seek,
From projections of ye chaste mind’s eyes.”
Colby responds, “If this confession is true,
We’ll pander to any desire.
We must drink a fifth of your fine Brandywine,
O’ Clitoris what do you require?”
The Clitoris avers, “due penance of course!”
Thus, they pay the steepest of taxes.
Coaxed by parley with the silver-tongued fiend,
The brothers relinquish their axes.
A final farewell to complete the exchange,
“à la prochaine!” the Clitoris sneered.
And with a cloak’s twirl, the Clitoris made off,
Gone as quickly as it had appeared.
The deed is done; the brothers’ fate has been sealed.
Fallen from grace, their virtues egress.
Their virginal eyes are now open to sin,
As they imbibe to foolish excess.
Now under false pretense, the brothers press on
Exalting the deceit they were sold.
But a strange power impedes their acumen
As the potion begins to take hold.
Charmed by this vile and deceptive delight,
They romp about bereft of remorse.
Devoid of their virtues, three sheets to the wind!
The two brothers stray far off their course.
With acuity gone, the two brothers press on,
Across the foul Perineum void.
Trapped in this hell, a purgatory for sin,
Dark thaumaturgy is employed.
Their minds become clouded in this vile realm,
And the brothers are wrought with dismay.
Astray and bemused, they both bicker again.
Their fraternal bond starts to decay.
Mathew exclaims, “Was it not you dear brother,
Who endorsed this foul curse of all men?
How imprudent you were to wreak such an err,
Have you not prescient thoughts in your ken?”
Colby retorts, “You best bite your tongue brother!
For your guilt is as boldfaced as mine.
This curse is our own for the treachery shown
When we put faith in this Brandywine.”
Mathew’s ire breaches all hold and restraint.
His lewd gesture will surely suffice
To sunder the bond of a great brotherhood
That fell to the clutches of vice.
Fraternity jilted, the quest forsaken,
Beguiled by a drunk reverie,
The brother’s now lust for such trifling things,
Enchanted by their cupidity.
Mathew confronts two perfidious jesters,
With the titles of fortune and fame.
Fortune leads Mathew to distrust his brother,
While Fame induces life without shame.
A hapless victim of this vacuous realm,
Where idle men rest on their laurels,
Mathew espouses his paltry existence,
And forsakes his ascetic morals.
Mathew grows faithful to the sybarite’s creed,
Seven vices are his to declare.
But greed and malaise propagate hand in hand,
And Mathew is enslaved by the pair.
Meanwhile, Colby is forlorn and alone,
And avows to forswear depraved kin.
Although grave disdain surges deep in his veins,
He atones for his crapulent sin.
Suddenly! A bright coruscation of light,
Showers down from the heavens above.
And a lilting choir of cherubs resounds,
Singing hymns of forgiveness and love.
Struck by the light, Colby cries for repentance
To spare himself from retribution.
And when an angel appears, he praises her name,
Deceived by the false absolution.
“Release me from sorrow, ‘O fair Salome!”
Colby cries to the winsome chimera.
Despite her empty and frigid demeanor
He pined for the sultry hetaera.
Her radiant hair had the luster of gold,
Which embellished her sapphire eyes.
And nubile charms bespoke fecundity,
On a figure she hardly disguised.
Colby cries out, “Prithee, spare my wretched soul!”
“Salome, bestow grace upon me!”
But cunning she is, ne’er a word leaves her lips,
She allures him with only beauty.
A foolhardy lust for this mute siren’s song,
That Colby cannot choose but to hear,
Keeps him smitten, and vying for Salome.
His staunch reverence for her is sincere.
But love that’s spurned is a prelude to madness.
Salome takes another man’s head.
And Colby’s worn mind unmoors his sanity,
Severing the frayed ends final thread.
Besieged by his passion, and ravish intents,
Colby lunges for her shapely charms.
But he suddenly wakes from the besotted curse,
To find Mathew embraced in his arms.
Canto III
The brother's in arms now stand before judgement,
As the wise doctor appears with wrath.
He shouts, “You’ve suffered for betraying my ken
And diverging from my pious path!”
The wise doctor roars, “I shall not pardon this!
And your penance shall come at a price.
I shall absolve you with two sacred tablets,
Though your quest still demands sacrifice.”
The brothers swallow the two sacred tablets,
And heed the doctor’s rarefied discourse.
Soon they’re imbued with a powerful fervor,
And become an inviolable force.
Now virile and strong, the two brothers press on,
Tumescent from the strange alchemy.
They duly distrust this potent elixir,
For they know it portends tragedy.
Soon they return to the great Cleft of Venus
To navigate its sinuous folds.
Imbued with the strength of the strange alchemy,
They locate the clandestine threshold.
“Alas!” Colby cries, “What misfortune plagues us!
Our tumid form is indeed a curse!
The narrow threshold can ne’er harbor us both,
Dear brother, could our fate turn for worse?”
Mathew cries, “Prithee, dear brother be still!
My blood is merely that of the lambs.
If we as a pair both attempt to proceed
It is certain that we’ll become jammed.”
“The wise doctor called for a great sacrifice,
And I’ve known it was mine to endure,
I even recall that he pointed to me.
No, in fact, I remember, I’m sure!”
“You are more worthy of the Gräfenberg spot,
Dear brother do not dare to contest!
I must face my fate as the Puer Aeternus,
And forswear the intent of our quest.”
Absent of words, Colby nods in concession,
And then plunges into the threshold.
But carnal bliss soon besieges his body,
And the pleasure is hard to withhold.
But still he slips deeper into the unknown,
As the cavern grows narrow and wet.
Crippled by pleasure as he inches ahead,
Colby’s trial is not over yet.
“Alas!” Colby cries, ne’er believing his eyes
As he enters a lavish foyer.
‘Tis Babylon’s whore who now stands before him,
Tattooed with a bizarre soubriquet.
“Mystery, Babylon the Great
The Mother of Harlots
And Abominations of the Earth”
She rode a great beast, with a cup in her hand,
Full of filth and adulterous sin.
Drunk on the blood of the pious who’ve fallen,
She disrobes and invites Colby in.
Her body was bare; spare the fine gossamer
Draped gently on her milk-swollen breasts,
And a circlet of fine gold, diamonds, and jewels,
To bespeak of her utter excess.
Her long sable hair held a sole raven feather,
And Colby understands what he sees.
She sent the Pthirus to beleaguer the land,
‘Tis the whore who’s the eminence grise!
The siren and jesters of their reverie
The siren and jesters of their reverie
Were all her agent provocateurs.
As queen of the Pthirus, she fills out her ranks
With the souls of her young paramours.
She dismounts the beast and whispers to Colby,
“I’ll please you for infinite hours.”
She lusts for his soul, and can feel he’s too weak
To fend off her lecherous powers.
Her sultry advance drains his power of will,
‘Tis clear he cannot suffer much more.
But then he devises a clever escape,
And slyly propositions the whore.
“Before consummation of this binding deed,
I have a small gift to appease you.
‘Tis a string of rare pearls, to garnish your neck,
And prove that my affection is true.”
But the whore whispers, “Wherefore this flattery?”
As her lips curl into a smile.
She is enticed by the gift Colby offers,
Nescient of the clever boy’s guile.
She kneels before Colby to garner the pearls,
But affection is often misread.
Instead of rare pearls, Colby unsheathes his sword,
And dissevers the whore’s wicked head!
The palatial walls of the lavish foyer
Turn to rubble beneath Colby’s feet.
The beast, and the whore’s many sinful misdeeds,
All perish in the wake of defeat.
All that remains is an ethereal glow,
Of the wisdom so desperately sought.
And as Colby wanders into the pure light,
He has entered the Gräfenberg spot.
Embraced in the warmth of pure knowledge and truth
He sees all that is, was, and will be.
Godlike prescience beyond mortal perception,
For a moment, pervades his body.
Suddenly! Colby is forced through the threshold,
Cast into chaos from the sublime,
Then he sees Mathew caught in the swift torrent,
And he knows that he hasn't much time.
Perforce! Colby dives into the great maelstrom,
And takes his brother under his arm.
While gasping for air, Mathew cries, “Save yourself,
‘Tis foolish to cause both of us harm!”
But Colby cries, “I’ll sooner see a pig fly,
Before I’ll forsake my young brother!
Are you too blind to see that our brotherhood,
Is a bond that outlives any other?”
Thrashed all about in the perilous torrent,
The brothers are pulled nine fathom down.
Then they are swept a thousand leagues without breath.
‘Tis a wonder that they haven’t drowned.
Then all is calm, and the two brothers surface
Near an island in some foreign sea.
They plod through the still waters to powdery sands,
And sprawl out 'neath an old Bodhi tree.
“Alas!” Mathew cries, “What lame wretches we are
With our tumid form withered away.
First thrashed all about, then left soggy and weak,
I’d prefered to have died with cachet.”
“A dignified death had awaited me there,
Amidst the great perilous torrent.
Alas! You spared me from dying a martyr.
A deed I believed you could warrant.”
“What’s left to behold, what’s become of our quest?
You look no more a man than before.
Dear brother, what lies there beyond the threshold?
Was the Gräfenberg spot mere folklore?”
Colby cries out, “I’ve seen the Gräfenberg spot!
Dear brother, ‘twas a sight to behold!
I lament that mere words seem wholly unfit
To recount what’s beyond the threshold.”
“But hearken dear brother, and heed what I say,
There’s a principle truth that I’ve learned,
The Gräfenberg spot shall ne’er make you a man,
‘Tis the quest where your manhood is earned.”
“Embraced in the warmth of pure knowledge and truth,
I saw weakness in humanity.
‘Twas how we squander our lives in great toil
Seeking things of such frivolity.”
“As if I had peered into some looking glass,
I saw my own reflection appear.
And when I saw you, my brother in peril,
The meaning of this vision was clear.”
“’Tis our brotherhood, blood’s unbreakable bond,
Tempered by our great tribulations,
That teaches the value of kinship above all,
And to shun life's paltry temptations.”
“Throw down your sword, drop your shield my dear brother!
We shall carry on just as before.
Though, now we shall travel and preach the good word
So that others may suffer no more!”
Denouement
Now the spell breaks, and Freyja’s power subsides.
The haggard old beggar hath done well.
Bound by his duty, the old man bids adieu,
For he knows there are others to tell.
The beggar cries, “‘tis time to bid ye farewell,
And betake myself into the night.
I pray ye shall heed to the songs I have sung,
And I pray ye shall do what is right.”
The wanton boys waken as if from a dream,
And retreat from the tavern’s soiree.
The boys hath learnt well, forever now wiser men,
They shall keep life’s diversions at bay.