Heliopolis
by Andrew Sims
Helios glides beyond the Libanus,
His finger tips linger on the lion spouts.
The naked marble, glowing orange, chills.
The winds blow strong, bending cypress,
Cooling the diners by the by the brook.
They slide into the womb of drink,
The diurnal glare once again survived.
The child is with the sun upon the stone,
In the wind on the open parapet.
Lost are the alpha and omega
In little eggs and darts.
The colour of this fleeting play, to those eyes,
Is faded. Driven by wondering mind, he descends
To the bowels denied the god's sweet rays
In dank silence below the temple's exposure.
This is the great ominous Helios of men,
Where sacrificials awaited elevation
To the glory of their masters' minds.
O child, could only, as Helios,
Shun mysterious vaults that bind your awe.
For from the same cold stone of massive walls,
Man has cut beauty too, though far more rare,
Which aspiring skyward Helios parting kissed
In the even air through which you danced.