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The Goddess of the Moon dethroned; hark, she strikes-
the hunter she remains.
Her next prey she takes,
setting him among her hounds.

“Forth!” cry she, and forth he go,
Frenzied in rage by the mistress.

The former prey, his escape near completed
but new hound upon him set,
the wolf, he is, and he is wounded
escape he make, it not be yet.
His wounds, to which he may have attended
And made his life profuse in ecstasy,
But alas, new hound upon him baited
Pinned is he now, below his maw.

“Forth!” Quoth she, the former Prey overtaken,
Cruel arrow strike among the vitals,

Even further crippl’d be he.
Set upon by hounds and jackals,
Escape he makes,
Seems but an impossibility.

He crieth out in pain and lashes out at cruel once mistress,
Turning upon a cur, once friend
“Did I not at once befriend you?”
“Aye,” say he, “but attack command doth my mistress send.

A cruel beast am I, to be obeyed by none,
Once wild but contained now among her fleet.
Bewitched by her bait of comfort,
and tantalizing cuts of meat.”

Onward flees the former,
Set upon by pack and foot
Running from his love, now fallen;
Goddess of the moon; now mortal.

He stumbles forth weak and wounded,
But laughs with sick incredulity,
“I fear, my friend, you hath been tricked,
Nothing but pain and woe await for thee.

Although I am hurt and heavy,
My escape I make, and too my recovery.
Although I have not a place to run,
My defenses shall I prepare for thee.

And once her arrows no longer find me,
Her frustration mounts forevermore,
For I wert the one to she denieth,
The quarry escaped from her bitter clutch,
Her rages shall fall upon you, the silent,
Innocent cur, bewitched in her trust.”

An arrow flew and missed its mark,
And former prey made his escape.
Domestic cur sat now puzzling,
Would there ever come a day?

“Cur!” she cried, the brazen huntress
What fault is it that he hath escap’d?
Would you not have him captured for eternal torture,
To please thy mistress forevermore?”

He looks upon her with woe and worry,
“Why him doth you desire so?
Wherefore his eternal torture
Do you desire him to be in constant throes?

Thou hast me now,” he cries despairing,
“Canst thou be sate, is this not enough?
Must his pain you also seeth,
To satisfy your sickn’d mind?”

“You are my hound, dearest of course,
But one of many I am afraid,
This one cleverly hath escaped,
If not possessed, he must be slain.

No wild coyote may treat me so,
For Artemis, am I.
No one may disrespect the huntress,
with flashing teeth and golden eye.

Forth! I say, forth, go onward,
In pursuit may you him follow,
For my arrows are not enough display
Of the pain deserved him so.”

Here the cur sat wondering,
Lost among his mistress’ hate,
He began to puzzle her condition,
And if her rage would ever sate.

“Doth you not hate him?
He is mine enemy, this is for sooth.
Thereby the ‘proximation,
Should he be yours in truth, in truth.

Let your rage boil up,
Your hackles slacken,
Your saliva build,
This wild beast hath defamed your maiden!

Your beauty, your treasure, your master and mistress!
Go forth young hound, go forth and be vicious!
Tear him apart, rip him asunder!
Have ye no doubt, and make you no blunder!”

And thence stood the hound,
The Goddess’ new prey,
He ran after the wolf,
With little heed.

His doubts now removed,
His blood now aboil,
His frenzy at max,
He set to his toil.

He would now find the wolf,
And pin him down so,
Allowing his maiden to deal that finite blow.
The Unbeliever Jul 2014
Pain will start to subside
Then grow again
With memories
Like opening a book
And explode anew

Pain begins, grows
never finishing, never lessening
Time has brought me far from childhood scars
I remember each slight, each twist
My mother's strikes, my father's lost
He got away, left me
To her

There were rapes, colored, scribbled
Across my childhood stories
Punishments, my only loving embrace
It was never me, aways" YOU!"
I lay here again, memories aboil
Fear and distrust, all I knew
Again I feel this, abandonment, distrust

I see my present, with her words in my ears
Burning advice, to make me
little and her
My father, so long
How do I judge other men?
So many years of lost
The true, made false
md-writer Dec 2018
it fades away, but not because it’s gone.
time does not destroy
nor years the pain unmake;
scarred and scarring.

layered pain:
a heart’s a frail and terrible thing.
accumulated horrors
in the attic of the mind
forsaken and forgotten
in light still burn the eye.
time’s circle turned,
by day and night unfurled
does not the bleeding wipe away
but distance adds and
layer stacks on layer.

don’t deny the hollowness
the bleeding in your eyes.
with falt’ring step and screeching voice
it’s gone before a sigh
without a whisper,
clasped in hearts aboil,
hanging, sinking, thoughts uncurled
like bleeding bits of earth.

drown this terror,
dye that gold
don’t deny the doubter’s goals
flying, denying, it’s all the
same to me,
filling up the measure of a broken,
settled gleam.

inching forward, step by step,
we look above for light and hope,
denied this life we drink;
and blight
devours in the night

sanctified by fallen gods,
a dripping-honey angel
stooping, breathing down our necks,
to free our death’s sweet
struggle.

Alone, alas, ‘tis not to be, this dream’s
a fatal liar,
for nothing that we see tonight
will ever meet His fire.

Denied, we died. It’s time to bleed
in fire.
Watch it hiss. We kiss. We fly.
And speak of our desire.

— The End —