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jcl Jan 6
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
I know I have sold my soul to these corporate gods
And they own all the content in my head.
I should be a good girl and let it go
When other mortals claim my thoughts instead.

But here’s the thing....

Idea struck I’ll make a grand proposal
Or write some forward thinking code myself.
Be complimented for my Dionysian passion but
They deem it impossible and place it on a shelf.

Discouraged I’ll admit defeat
Even while it burns like a Promethean flame.
Then years down the road I’ll discover
My work rewarded under a naysayers name!

<soothsayer>
But wait a sec, before we get all self-righteous, girly - let's be totally honest.  

Yeah, you might have predicted a couple things years before they took off - and nobody believed that they could ever work.  Yeah, some guy took your dead code and put it in another product and that product ended up taking off.  Yeah - nobody gave you any credit for thinking of any of it first or for giving them the original idea.  But - dude - clearly you didn't want to own or drive these ideas anyway, you didn't keep trying when someone shot you down the first time you brought any of them up.  You just enjoy sprinkling pixie dust ideas around and then get offended when nobody remembers where they came from.

And let's get real -  cookies are for closers, princess.  Cassandra's a loser who didn't try hard enough to sell her ideas too and it drove her freaking insane.  Is that who you want to be?  Try again.
</soothsayer>

It's probably partly (or all?) my fault
Shameless self promotion is my Achilles heel
And once the ideas are dismissed as crazy
My confidence to own them loses all appeal.
  
Rather than courting madness in lack of praise
That I wish to call on Zeus and all his might
I should take five steps back and look again ..
Isn't it still pretty cool to know that I'd been right?

Can't it be pretty great to have inspired epics -
And made suggestions that will influence history?
Can't it be enough to know my contributions mattered?
Forget Cassandra - I'll be Calliope!

<soothsayer>
But if you can't get over your pride
Remember you have one wild card -
Next time you have that great idea -
Just patent it - or create some prior art!

Also - please stop comparing yourself to tragic Greek princesses and muses, it is pretentious.
</soothsayer>
The soothsayer knows me too well :)  

I do have this inner conflict though with wanting credit and praise for things when I only mentioned them but didn't actually push them through.  Need to work on confidence in the face of adversity I suppose, or settle to just give my ideas away for free for the greater good without getting bitter about not getting credit.  Working on it! :)
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.
Graff1980 Jan 2015
It never ends, fragments of visions collapsing upon themselves painfully. Her swollen eyes opening, and bursting with orange fire. Then closing just as fast. In between those agonizing seconds she sees everything. Thousands of years cycling over and over. Visions of visions within visions.


Cassandra saw her city razed to the ground. The wall which once stood firm against the onslaught of enemies crumbling with the ravages of time. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again she saw her own grief. Her cousin had fallen in battle. She closed her eyes again, and scratched at her itchy eyelids.



Ten weeks passed without a blink, not even a fraction of an opening. She was disciplined, but the longer she fought the more her eyelids would burn. One blink to ease the agony and she was forced to see her father’s skin. A purple mass of dead flesh bubbling swelling, exploding, and rotting, with maggots squirming in out and around till flies formed and flew away. Another corpse left out in a burning city. One among many denied a peaceful death. Buildings crumbled to dust, the bodies became one with the earth. Cassandra cried without opening her eyes. Her father stroked her long soft curls, whispering reassurances. “It’s all right my child.”


Another three or four weeks passed. She had become blinder than Tiresias the blind prophet. Unable to recall if that was a story she had heard, or would hear in the future.  She sobbed spilling each and every sorrow she could. Every tragedy yet to come. Her father smiled gently placing a warm cloth upon her brow. “Shush my child these nightmares will fade soon enough.”


The young girl opened her eyes again. This time a years’ worth of history unfolded. She saw soldiers gathering arms. Battlements born of the Bronze Age burning with righteous rage. Steel blades clanging against bronze shields in preparation for war. Boats fully loaded departed.


She closed her eyes once more. It would be another two months before she opened them. In the meantime she pleaded with her father to leave the city. Day in and day out begging, sobbing, and screaming until she was sent away.


It was becoming harder and harder to keep her eyes closed. There was a burning force aching to escape. She managed five more weeks until she could bare the pain no longer. As her new sisters bathed her pale dry skin with the sweetest scented oils the young girl recited all that she saw and felt.


The first footfalls of the first soldier’s feet to touch the beach. The feel of the sand as it swirled in, out and around the soldier’s sandals. The general howling commands. The green eyes hungry for battle. The faces contorted in controlled rage. All that intensity burning under the once civilized façade. She closed her eyes again.


Cassandra sat silently in exhaustion, as the sisters slowly brushed the knots out of her long brown hair. They brought her a blindfold, which allowed only a small comfort. This time she only managed to resist for two weeks. The vision came upon her with such force that she cried out and collapsed.


Now the city was burning. Citizen screamed as they ran in terror. Brave men rushed forwards to be impaled on the spears of other brave men. Arrows swallowed the moonlight picking at the earth and scavenging for some bare flesh to devour. Blood ran like red rainwater. Streets streamed thin crimson pools diluted by warm summer showers. The stench oh, the stench, it made Cassandra ***** up chunks of soggy bread and half-digested beef mixed with red wine and stomach acid, while she tried to force her eyes to close.


Finally, she closed her eyes again. The sisters tried to sooth her sorrows, to no avail. Within a years’ time the young girl lost the ability to close her eyes. Cassandra eyeballs slowly burnt out until there was nothing left but charcoaled eye sockets. By the next year she could no longer speak. Cassandra became paralyzed by the futility of her existence.


In her mind the war had come and gone. The sieges were no longer an issue. She no longer felt the urge to cry for the dead. What was, will be, and what will be cannot be undone. What cannot be undone has already happened. Apollo had cursed her. Her beauty had enraptured him, her wit had charmed him, but her will had enraged him.


She was only thirteen with brown eyes and long hair of rare quality, soul so powerful that almost anyone who met her could feel its energy. She shamed the gods with her purity, and unwillingly ensnared their affection.


At first Apollo came with strong arms and tender words. Wooing to the point of painful pleasure. Her eyes could not handle such radiance. His skin burned as his chariot burned. Hair golden flames, skin solar yellow, eye orange as the sun. Each kiss burnt like the worse fever, taking her against her will, savaging her sanity. As if, as if being a god gave him the right to take such liberties.


Apollo viewed her early rejections with whimsy, believing them to be some cute token of her modesty. A god can afford to wait, after all eternity was on his side. After the first hundred no’s his affection gave way to anger. Until his desire could not bear rejection any longer.


At last he cried out to Cassandra. “I will have you or else.”


With a firm but fiery hand he swept her up.  Forcing his mouth against hers. Parting her pursed lip with his powerful tongue.  He shoved his tongue into her mouth, until tears streamed down her cheeks. She could not resist with words, because her mouth was occupied, so she took the only action she knew available to her.


She bit down as hard she could. Lava spewed from Apollo’s lips, roughly singing the inside of her mouth. Without realizing what was happening she swallowed. Her skin began to glow, tiny childlike limbs lengthened and tightened. From her eyes radiated the most powerful light ever seen by man or god. For a moment Apollo cowered beneath the awe of her power, stumbling backwards to the ground dumbfounded.


Regaining his composure he slapped her aside. Scowling in rage “How dare you. You. You worthless *****.”


Her lips parted now of her own volition. Her voice raged with a deep and powerful resonance. “How dare you, you whimpering fool.” The power still flowing inwards filled her with confidence. “I see you for what you are. A tool, a man made invention.” The radiance of her skin was slowly fading. “I see too much now.” She cried out in an ******* fury. A smile crossed her lips. “I see what will become of you and your ilk.”


With strength previously unimagined the young girl thrusted her small hands out throttling Apollo’s throat. He trembled in fear. “You cannot hope to contain the power of me. I am generations incarnated. Passing power from one age to the next. I will not be enslaved.” Her skin began to blink, her voice loss much of its force. “I am Cassandra, and you a merely a passing phase. I will tell the world of all I have seen.”


The last bit of godly energy faded from her skin. Cassandra collapsed. “I still see it all, and you will never touch me again.”


Apollo brushed bits of earth off his person. “See all you want, I care not.” He lunged for her. A flash of thin white light flung him back.

Confused, Apollo rose. Glaring he screamed “You may see all now. It is a gift my blood has given you, but soon it will become a curse. For no mortal wishes to believe that the fates have already written their story. They will ignore you, and in doing so you will find that this power you have gained will be for naught. Thus will be your curse to see all, with no power to stop it.”


Cassandra’s eyes opened wide, seconds split into eternity. She felt the passing of all those around her. She felts time’s stench and rot all around her. Her skin would wrinkle to a certain degree but she would be eternal. She saw cities rise and fall. Some to rise again others to be forgotten. She saw herself seeing each of these visions again and again. She lived her immortal life over and over, events unchanged be anything she said.


The only real comfort was that she saw Apollo wither away. As the old gods fell to ruins weakened by the rationality of new gods, then the rationality of structured reason. Then came the rise of something new and better. Reason with abstraction, abstraction with order, a cycle of energy which emboldened and empowered man. She chuckled.
“Go away little godling.”
And like the little thing he was, Apollo ran.
Her father shushed her, wiping the tears from her face.
The sisters bathed her; singing songs of love and adoration.
Troy fell under the onslaught.
Apollo came and went again.


Cassandra’s eyes opened wide closed and open wide once more, seconds split into eternity. She felt the passing of all those around her. She felts time’s stench and rot all around her. Her skin would wrinkle to a certain degree but she would be eternal. She saw cities rise and fall. Some to rise again others to be forgotten. She saw herself seeing each of these visions again and again. She lived her immortal life over and over, events unchanged be anything she said.


The only one real comfort was that she saw Apollo wither away. As the old gods fell to ruins weakened by the rationality of new gods, then the rationality of structured reason. Then came the rise of something new and better. Reason with abstraction, abstraction with order, a cycle of energy which emboldened and empowered man. She chuckled.
“Go away little godling.”
And like the little thing he was, Apollo ran.
Her father shushed her, wiping the tears from her face.
The sisters bathed her; singing songs of love and adoration.
Troy fell under the onslaught.
Apollo came and went again.

— The End —