sojourns with Jesus

I think I may seek to attempt to publish this one instead. I have been thinking it would be a bit more subtle. Any suggestions or feedback?

The Madman

I dream of Elysian Fields,
where lost children run through the found reeds,
and the sun shines on golden mountains,
and all are equally cooled by a soft spring breeze,
the streams of forgetting glimmer of only happy dreams
of yesteryears and tomorrows filled with laughter,
and no more memories of bitter realities or fears,
in that hallowed land there are no more need for tears.

The cold water splashes,
waking me in pain a mere slave yet again,
I who once was a freeman but now in chains,
for sinful indiscretion done time and again,
cruel fate makes this reality and the other a dream.

The pain washes me, tartarus beckons and calls,
I curse that foul siren and her wail screams on,
I wish I where dreaming,
the sails are screeching,
the boatsmen are faltering,
the rain tears into our flesh,
the tempest drills into our unrest,
driving me to pray to all gods by name,
yet not one has ever answered yet again.

The madman is screaming,
calmness he cries,
we are safe in the storm,
madness has seized him,
the captain shouts orders,
we must not loose the oars!

The ship is torn,
we are all going to die,
the White Rock will have us,
the water is freezing,
twisting like wraiths into the wind,
the salt burns my eyes,
my old wounds open
siren calls from oblivion,
the moon she has abandoned the sky,
the gods have abandoned me,
to tarturus i go,
no fields of barley,
darkness takes me farther from home,
soon all is to be gone.

The air revives me,
my chains have been lifted,
a hand offers fresh water,
a soft voice speaks and beckons me to awake,
the fire warms and confuses,
can this possibly be land,
or has grace brought me into that fabled land?

The strange madman sits calmly,
he stirs the fire that warms me,
he touches my shoulder as if i were still a man,
there is strange joy in his breath,
as he bandages my wounds,
he works as a freeman with a bondsman’s hands,
by the embers that so warm his well worn flesh.

I drift in to dreams, yet his cry opens my eyes,
he has been bitten by a viper,
flesh is torn from his hand as he kills the
beast that marks him as damned.
What the waters could not quench
surely fate has merciless done yet he seems
strangely not undone.

Hours have passed, more villagers have come,
they see not us but the madman
that has conquered ocean and viper as if he
were some form of a humble living god.

His speech is so foreign,
He speaks of a single god of a far away land,
of a king with no earthly kingdom,
yet who rules the world and every man,
and he speaks of a breath that gives life,
what strange words come forth from this man.

Madman or not,
in his face is a life,
that I have never had,
and I have strived for all my life,
may one day destiny,
grant me such a lot,
as this madman.

Possibly related posts:

1. poem: Shadowland
2. Poem for Contest?
3. poetry: holding hands
4. poem: move along
5. Poem: Sometimes