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Hailey Apr 2019
An oracle
In which only Apollo
God of the sun
Of poetry
Of medicine
Of archery
Of honesty
Of the muses
And of the oracles
Only he yielded the keys
Forged of golden Ichor and tears
Casted into the plated nook of Hades armor
And cooled in the deepest reaches of the seas and the highest high of the heavens
That gave way to the oracles heart
And perhaps she loved him
He who was as warm as the sunlight which kissed lovingly on her skin
He who could breathe not one lie, but rather spoke the truth with a voice soft
He who sang merrily through halls and merry met ears who pondered in to listen

Yes, perhaps she loved him.
Perhaps that is why she took him by his hand
And murmured words sacred
As she passed the key to him
Unneeding to utter what she wanted
He already knew

Perhaps that is why she stayed behind
Watching as others loved him as she did
But never the same
Perhaos because she knew she couldn't have him
So the best she could do
Was give him her heart
And hope he would cherish it
They've all moved to L.A now.
Their temples alit by silver screen
belief in Hollywood dreams.

Pilgrims travel from all around
to new sanctuaries;
to New Delphi,

to see them in the flesh,
their idols who have fallen from
the light polluted skies.

Carved and polished out of Parian marble
And pasted onto magazines.
Sculptured into new realities.

Still the priestesses; the press,
will whisper the gossip
from high in the clouds.
Written sometime toward the end of 2011.
Tryst May 2014
All wise and knowing seer of Delphi, Oracle I beg thee tell me,
What enchanting malady afflicts my mortal soul?
It churns my stomach like as butter, pangs my heart and makes it flutter,
Spins my thoughts so rapidly, I lose all self-control;
A wildly spinning vortex and I lose all self-control.

Striking deeply, sharp blades whirring, thrusting madly, twisting, turning,
Searing pain that scorches, burning, brings me to despair;
Silently it tracks and trails me, pouncing when my courage fails me,
Oracle, what sickness ails me? Save me from its snare;
Oh wise and noble Oracle, what has me in its snare?

Mortal fool, be still and listen, I espied you in a vision,
Ancient magic has arisen from the depths of hell;
Crafted in the Devil's furnace, cunningly it seeks to burn its
Way into your soul, I've seen this, none can break its spell;
It knows your every weakness and you cannot break its spell.

You must succumb and do it swift, or e'er your soul will be adrift,
Held captive in the Devil's rift, your mind will split asunder;
Your struggle will be fought in vain, eternal doom in endless pain,
Relent or e'er you'll feel its bane, your soul it comes to plunder;
You must relent and let it in, or feel its wrathful thunder.

Oh Oracle, all wise and knowing, fear inside me keeps on growing,
I can sense a chill wind blowing, filling me with dread;
Although your words seem strange and hollow, I submit and gladly follow,
For I know the God Apollo guides the path you tread;
Wise Apollo takes your hand and guides the path you tread.


What sweet exquisite joy I'm feeling, giddily my head is reeling,
Days have passed and find me kneeling at my sweethearts feet;
Oh Oracle, I will not tarry, asking her if she will marry,
Saving me from malady, she makes my soul complete;
She drives away the malady and makes my soul complete.

— The End —