Posts Tagged ‘Gods’

h1

Equals

March 3, 2010

Reality – oozing,
Dripping from his fingers
As though it was blood
Spilt from the wounds of men.

The rages and passions
Are his; he, simmering,
Darkest lord, controls most
Of that which we hold dear.

Yet we reject him:
We hide our faces and
Harden our hearts against him.
He is war, we say—

How can we trust him?

But Aphrodite did not suffer thus;
She, who some call the softest
And most beautiful of the gods,
Took him into her arms – her equal,

In all things.

Advertisements
h1

The Pool

December 30, 2009

The pool gleams, opening its arms
In a most eager anticipation;
Sapphire light sparkles deep beneath,
Filling the onlookers’ eyes with need.

A god stands at the centre of the pool,
Its arms lifted in silent prayer –
Its eyes are closed, its face blank,
But for the smallest hint of a smile.

The onlookers fall to their knees
And worship at the altar of this god:
It does not stir; not even the Anemoi
Can rouse it from its still silence.

At a cue that none other can sense,
It lowers its arms, and opens its eyes.
Divinity pours forth, and the worshippers,
Acting as one, smile back at their god.

h1

Hymn to Lethe

December 29, 2009

I sing of you, o soft-flowing Lethe;
Dark goddess of the murmuring river
That brings sweet oblivion in its wake.

I sing of you, dusk-whispering lady,
You who exists in black euphoria
And the madness of perfect clarity.

I sing of you, queen of the shadows.
Casting darkness over the human mind,
Guiding souls, living and dead, to forget.

h1

Dove

December 3, 2009

A young boy swings,
Kicking his foot against the tree.
The nymphai chastise him;
He lifts his gaze and speaks.

“Why, of all birds,
Is the soft dove the creature
That Erotes have chosen
To dance with them in this world?”

The nymphs scoff, for he
Has answered his own question;
And yet he does not understand truly
The impact of which he asks.

One drifts down from the cherry-laden boughs,
Takes his hand in her soft, red hands
And smiles into the boy’s face.
“Love is the answer.” He frowns; she laughs.

h1

Inspiration

November 15, 2009

A golden songbird plucks a rose from the
Hand of Erato and warms its wings in
The hazy red glow of her skin. Warmed,
It darts away, and drops the rose into
A poet’s lap. Smiling, the poet lifts
Her head and lets the words stream from her eyes.