The Exilarch’s Solarium

Heaven is wherever you are, 
Scattered over places near and far, 
Sent by sylphian radar from the nearest star, 
A sirenian chimera the color of feldspar. 
From the solarium where your songs play, 
Chalices of smiles emanate hollow light 
Off the mantel where a fire melts away 
The iron traps of my stubborn might. 
You've eroded a mountain, a pillar of salt, 
A man of mirages destitute of convictions, 
Misplaced among the laburnums of Conwy. 
Look to the west, o patient one, 
'Cross Cathedrals of Hope that glitter 
O'er all the waves of the ocean spray, 
Drawn to the sky with every breath 
Inhaled from the barren face of the moon. 
Downtrodden the crystal angels play, 
Above quays where the castle displays 
Melancholy eyes of deep dismay, 
Shedding tears upon a Galilee bay. 
This state of mind, these material illusions, 
Eulogize sly whispers off the window sill, 
Searching those lost skies of seclusion 
For stray threads of the scent you left. 
Now Judea's seraphim of gypsies 
Sing your hollow songs of yesterday, 
As I sit here holding a sunken chalice 
By the blue light of the frozen mantel. 
Where are you my sweet, my little lorikeet? 
The virtue of patience has grown weary, 
Fried into nothing by the wyverns of time. 
If I'd known it would take this long; 
That these sylvan trails of yellow sawgrass 
Swaying under the sun lead to nowhere; 
That a solitary thistle withering in a silver vase 
Would be the only thing you left me, 
All this heartache could have been spared.