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He’s cruel and stupid, and ignores
His omened doom, pronounced, decreed,
And mine with his, no ranted screed.  
Though I must speak, I pray it bores.  
The direst warnings couldn’t save
My family, or those I loved.  
When prophecy failed, I should have shoved
Them from the palace to some cave.  
Now it’s too late to intervene,
And force can spare their murderer.  
I should prevent, but I’ll demur,
And perish too. I’m just sixteen.  
I’ve suffered, but don’t want to die,
Especially not matched with him.  
Even so, I’ll meet my downfall prim,
Trojan royalty too brave to cry.
And a song for poor Cassandra too.  I never faulted Clytemnestra for killing that **** Agamemnon but why did she have to **** Cassandra too?  She was his *** slave not his paramour.
King Agamemnon raised a wind
When the whole fleet had lain becalmed.  
He’d sacrificed, and hadn’t qualmed.  
From horror he could not rescind.  
His wife has taken the loss badly.  
Not even kings can lessen grief,
Or render the bereft relief.  
He’d give his life for hers, and gladly.  
And jealousy has made it worse.  
The girl is a much younger mate,
But looks and youth can’t replicate
A marriage sorrow can’t reverse.  
Any captive’s understandably
A little skittish at the first.  
They say she’s mad, that she’s been cursed
With visions of the things to be.  
Shamans love to peddle threats
And when the worst misfortune hits
They preen like fortune’s favorites.  
And they alone have no regrets.  
He had refused a wheedling fraud.  
And then a bunch of men got sick.  
Confronted by a lunatic,
He’d given in, resigned unawed.  
A warlord doesn’t quake from fear
Because a foreign princess whines.    
Him frightened by his concubines?
The girl’s annoying but sincere.
Agamemnon gets his own poem.   This came out of the previous one but it was getting kinda long for Instagram.  Beside the Mycenaeans didn’t have dossiers and I wanted to keep the rhyme.   “He’d give his life for hers” refers to Iphigenia.  I’d have written “He’d have given his life for hers” but that would put me over on syllables.
Tichozpytec Jun 2021
Oh, how strongly I am missing
Those simpler times when everybody would have listened
Oh, how tired am I
Of being ignored when the end is nigh
Oh, how much did I pay
For choosing chastity over Apollo's dark rays
Oh, how much will I suffer
From those evil hands that will treat me rougher
Oh, how evil gods can be
When mortals hurt their vanity
Oh, oh, oh
I wish I didn't know
fray narte May 2021
i will hold a gun to my throat myself,
yet somehow,
it is less violent
than the casual words of a god.

mad girls don't cry wolf;
they die. they disappear,
like cobwebs in a darkened corner.
in the shadows, watch me dangle
with a slip knot of fuchsias.

in the shadows,
watch me dig this body up,
until there is a layer of skin
and black lips and lithium quartz
and clichéd promises
you haven't touched.
after all, archaeology is
just an excuse
to look straight at my remains.

in the shadows,
let my skin cave in;
i will take everything down —
every misery, every deception,
every corruption, and every light.
i will ***** out the ******* sun
if it kills me,
leaves me cold as bygone walls.


yet somehow,
it is less violent

than to be loved by a god, until he doesn't.
to be loved by a god, but it isn't.

to be loved by a god: a euphemism, at best

to be loved by a god
is the curse.
Lorena Nov 2020
in other worlds..." he corrected himself -

"The being in constant astonishment in other worlds - words, dies. Starves from too much food."
TOO MUCH ASTONISHMENT.

such astonishment to be unlearned in the meeting of two friends on a bench,
the opening of curtains to a blue-gold sky
the sheer pleasure of creating a world -
(word?)
- and a person and a FEELING
from a black-inked nib and a white scratched page

THIS IS THE FATE OF THE WATCHER
trapped alone in astonishment, a seer
Cassandra of ordinary happenings.

look at the living that is being LIVED!
- and never believed.
Eleanor Apr 2020
Cassandra,
I see you in the words  
of Greta Thunberg:
Filled with passion, warnings, truth.
Not believed.

Cassandra,
I see you in the dreams  
of Calpurnia;
warning Caesar, bloodied earth
Not believed.

Cassandra,
I see you in the protections
of Tony Stark;
made with fear, love
Not believed.

Did they tell you to smile more?
Ask you why you’ve “gotten involved”?
Did they belittle your prophecy,
Ignore warning after warning?
Ignore you?

Mad woman, hysterical.
You, angered Apollo
Or  
Was he always angry?
Did he believe himself so worthy
of your love that he cursed
not having it?
I don’t know.
You probably told someone
We know how that would have ended,

Cassandra,
I see you in the testimonies  
of Christine Blasey Ford,
so hurt, pained, strong.
Not believed.

Were you told to sit quietly, mind your place?
When you were attacked was it your body
She defended
Or
Her own desiccated image?
Maybe you told the trees of
Ajex’s sins, because even if  
the men listened,
A statue protected him from justice.

Cassandra,
I see you in the words
of impassioned protestors
so bright, so young.
Not believed.  

Maybe if you told them lies  
they'd believe the truth.
Maybe if you told the truth  
they'd believe the lies.
Believe anything you said.

Darling Cassandra
possible bride of Apollo.
definite belonging of King Agamemnon.
Did his children believe you?

Are you a warning to women?
Love who you are told to.
Bow to authority or
Never give up.

Are you a criticism of men?
Demanding of love.
Expecting subservience.
Justice not served.

Cassandra,
I see you in myself,
the pain they caused
the light going out  
I am not believed.

Cassandra,
Does it get better?
Have you received the peace you so deserve?
Or are you still  
Not believed.
inspired by the Greek tale of Cassandra. It draws inspiration from some of the most famous examples of people ignoring the truth but is also inspired by my own personal experiences.
Amaris Jul 2019
Gods, I’ve been forsaken!
I – formerly blessed by the sun –
Cry out to you, you who leave
My words unheard.
Once a daughter to kings, I wait
Inside an indiscernible prison
For the fall of my beloved city.
I predicted this, my people, but
I cannot blame you, my people
I spurned the sun, burned my fate
And now no one will heed me.
They tell me I am
beautiful, I am brilliant, I am
insane.
They tell me
To leave the future to kings.
I spoke to you, my people
The contents of the horse
I spoke to you, my people
When we shall catch our demise
With axe and fire, I rush,
Only to face the barrage of disbelief
I hear them laughing, my people
Those who will carve their place
Where you once stood
But you will not listen.
Based on Greek myth of Kassandra, a Trojan princess cursed by Apollo to speak prophecies but never be believed.
ghost queen Jan 2019
there is hope
like a rising sun
on a distance horizon
lighting up the morning sky
pushing the darkness aside
melting the clouds away

the rays warm my face
coaxing a smile
squinting my eyes
i take a breath, savoring being alive

the sky is blueing deeper, clearer
morning haze is lifting, disappearing
life is awakening, stirring, moving
the beauty is overwhelming, awe inspiring

i see anew, with an indigo eye
things i’d sensed but never knew
i feel too deep, intuit too much
beheld as a curse, repressed, suppressed

i burned, screamed, fell into ashes
my soul lay fallow, quiet, healing, waiting
resurrecting from cold dark depths
heart beating, eyes opening, arms reaching

vindication from self doubt
forgive me Cassandra, Cairn, Mother
i weep, openly, proudly, for your grace
it is the 9th and final gift
#552-2019.03.11
indigo flower photos https://flic.kr/s/aHskLRTg2B
Florence Maude Mar 2015
Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassandra.

How else can you write another name in its place?

To match your dark eyes and hair,
Your smile and the fancy dresses you wear,

How does one compare?

To the books you read,
To the music you play,

To the songs you sing,
To the stories you write,

The dances you dance,
And the light you shine on the world.

The answer is:
You can't.

Nothing could be better about you,
The Beautiful Cassandra
'The Beautiful Cassandra' is actually a story that beloved author Cassandra Clare wrote in her early days of writing. Lucky me -I have a friend named Cassandra, I often call her The Beautiful Cassandra as reference & as a compliment. This poem is dedicated to her, my beautiful friend.
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