I. THE GOLDEN ASCENT
Sing, O Muse, of the Wind, the unseen and the archer of heaven,
Sing of the Nymph who was borne on the shoulders of currents eternal.
High on the back of the Gale did I ride where the stars are created,
Watching the eagles of Zeus as they drifted in circles of silence.
Long were the days spent in dancing through palaces built out of sunlight,
Countless the leagues that we traveled o'er cities of marble and ocean.
He was my strength and my steeple, the God-breath that held me from pain,
Whispering songs of the Cosmos that mortals have ceased to remember.
I was the bridal of Ether, a spirit of purest expansion,
Knowing no limit or fetter while locked in the arms of the Zephyr.
II. THE WITHDRAWAL AND THE VOID
Then came the moment of Doom, when the Wind drew his breath from the firmament,
Folding his wings like a hawk and abandoning me to the abrupt fall.
Silent the music became; the great columns of air were destroyed there,
Leaving me weighted and helpless, adrift in the terrible hollow.
Gone was the grace of the Gods and the kiss of my faithful companion,
Downward I spun like a leaf that is torn by the frost of the winter.
Visceral terror awoke as the gravity clawed at my spirit,
Centuries seemed to go by in the time that it took to reach Gaia.
Shrivelling and wrinkled my skin, like an apple forgotten in harvest,
Falling from heavenly peace to the visage of human avarice.
III. THE SCARRED MOTHER
Nearer I flew to the Earth, to the Source who had fostered my being,
Yet I beheld not the green, but a wasteland of flooding and anguish.
Rivers had burst from their banks like the veins of a dying old Giant,
Lightning, the spear of the Sky, was repeatedly stabbing the valleys.
The bolts struck the soil in a fury, unveiling the sins of the dwellers,
Exposing the ruin of forests where silence once sat in the shadows.
There were the Mortals, the cowards who dig in the flesh of the mountain,
Parasite creatures of greed who have ravaged the life of the land below.
IV. THE HEROIC RETURN
Death reached his fingers to clutch at my heel as the granite drew nearer,
SUDDENLY—Vast as a God—came the WIND in a gallop of Thunder!
Roaring he dove from the heights, and he caught me in nettings of armor,
Snatched from the jaw of the Grave by the power of heavenly intervention!
He is the Lift and the Life; he is He who commands the horizon,
Setting me down in the mud so my voice could be heard by the wicked.
V. THE ENCOUNTER
Midst the destruction and silt, where the ragged were huddled in terror,
Some cried out "Demon!" and others shrieked "Fiend!" as they shied from my presence.
Yet did the Wind nudge me soft to a child who was smaller and broken,
One who was sobbing for parents now lost to the rage of the waters.
Victim of loss was the girl, as the Nymph had been victim of darkness,
Sharing the sorrow of exile as rain washed the tears from our faces.
VI. THE SPEECH OF THE PYTHIAN TRUTH
"Weep not, young mortal, for I too have lost what I cherish,
Watching the slaughter of earth as the flowers and willow-trees perish.
Death of my Mother I’ve seen for far longer than you shall endure,
Longer than life in your veins, which is fleeting and faint and unsure.
Dry now your eyes, for the spirit of Nature requires your deed,
Offer the laurel and burn the sweet incense to answer her need.
Pray to the Gods, dance with trees, sing with birds on the wing,
Blow in the breezes of summer and hear what the meadow shall sing.
Find the old peace of your people, before they were poisoned by gold,
Write me a poem for Elysium’s keep, where the heroes are bold.
For a mother is found in the soil and the stream and the sky,
A truth that the Pythia spoke in the sacred ages gone by."
VII. THE REBIRTH
Thus was the seed of the Gods planted deep in the heart of the Mortal,
Promise of calm for the LAND as the clouds broke to show the beautiful WORLD.
Once they were scavengers, now they were friends who looked to the heavens,
Lifting their hands to the boughs as the naiads and spirits returned.
Rise, little girl, to the morn, while the Gods tend the earth being mended,
Finding the peace in the place where the scars of the past are all ended.
Feb 19
Feb 19, 2026 at 9:40 AM UTC
I. THE GOLDEN ASCENT
Sing, O Muse, of the Wind, the unseen and the archer of heaven,
Sing of the Nymph who was borne on the shoulders of currents eternal.
High on the back of the Gale did I ride where the stars are created,
Watching the eagles of Zeus as they drifted in circles of silence.
Long were the days spent in dancing through palaces built out of sunlight,
Countless the leagues that we traveled o'er cities of marble and ocean.
He was my strength and my steeple, the God-breath that held me from pain,
Whispering songs of the Cosmos that mortals have ceased to remember.
I was the bridal of Ether, a spirit of purest expansion,
Knowing no limit or fetter while locked in the arms of the Zephyr.
II. THE WITHDRAWAL AND THE VOID
Then came the moment of Doom, when the Wind drew his breath from the firmament,
Folding his wings like a hawk and abandoning me to the abrupt fall.
Silent the music became; the great columns of air were destroyed there,
Leaving me weighted and helpless, adrift in the terrible hollow.
Gone was the grace of the Gods and the kiss of my faithful companion,
Downward I spun like a leaf that is torn by the frost of the winter.
Visceral terror awoke as the gravity clawed at my spirit,
Centuries seemed to go by in the time that it took to reach Gaia.
Shrivelling and wrinkled my skin, like an apple forgotten in harvest,
Falling from heavenly peace to the visage of human avarice.
III. THE SCARRED MOTHER
Nearer I flew to the Earth, to the Source who had fostered my being,
Yet I beheld not the green, but a wasteland of flooding and anguish.
Rivers had burst from their banks like the veins of a dying old Giant,
Lightning, the spear of the Sky, was repeatedly stabbing the valleys.
The bolts struck the soil in a fury, unveiling the sins of the dwellers,
Exposing the ruin of forests where silence once sat in the shadows.
There were the Mortals, the cowards who dig in the flesh of the mountain,
Parasite creatures of greed who have ravaged the life of the land below.
IV. THE HEROIC RETURN
Death reached his fingers to clutch at my heel as the granite drew nearer,
SUDDENLY—Vast as a God—came the WIND in a gallop of Thunder!
Roaring he dove from the heights, and he caught me in nettings of armor,
Snatched from the jaw of the Grave by the power of heavenly intervention!
He is the Lift and the Life; he is He who commands the horizon,
Setting me down in the mud so my voice could be heard by the wicked.
V. THE ENCOUNTER
Midst the destruction and silt, where the ragged were huddled in terror,
Some cried out "Demon!" and others shrieked "Fiend!" as they shied from my presence.
Yet did the Wind nudge me soft to a child who was smaller and broken,
One who was sobbing for parents now lost to the rage of the waters.
Victim of loss was the girl, as the Nymph had been victim of darkness,
Sharing the sorrow of exile as rain washed the tears from our faces.
VI. THE SPEECH OF THE PYTHIAN TRUTH
"Weep not, young mortal, for I too have lost what I cherish,
Watching the slaughter of earth as the flowers and willow-trees perish.
Death of my Mother I’ve seen for far longer than you shall endure,
Longer than life in your veins, which is fleeting and faint and unsure.
Dry now your eyes, for the spirit of Nature requires your deed,
Offer the laurel and burn the sweet incense to answer her need.
Pray to the Gods, dance with trees, sing with birds on the wing,
Blow in the breezes of summer and hear what the meadow shall sing.
Find the old peace of your people, before they were poisoned by gold,
Write me a poem for Elysium’s keep, where the heroes are bold.
For a mother is found in the soil and the stream and the sky,
A truth that the Pythia spoke in the sacred ages gone by."
VII. THE REBIRTH
Thus was the seed of the Gods planted deep in the heart of the Mortal,
Promise of calm for the LAND as the clouds broke to show the beautiful WORLD.
Once they were scavengers, now they were friends who looked to the heavens,
Lifting their hands to the boughs as the naiads and spirits returned.
Rise, little girl, to the morn, while the Gods tend the earth being mended,
Finding the peace in the place where the scars of the past are all ended.
An epic in dactylic hexameter.
