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Arianna Feb 27
Granddaughter of the Sun
Scheming with the Moon,
For the lots of Love are cast and thou art betrayed!

Priestess, sorceress, mother —
Garlands of hemlock mark the woman well-tried
Where neither mortal court nor chorus
Can judge the ire of transgressed divinity.

Shame turns to laurel wreaths
In the wake of your wrath:
Resolute, collecting debts of pride
And honor, in blood oaths for justice.

          Your house falls, defiled by impiety,
          But your name shall suffer no infamy,
          And the sins of the father shall not shadow your progeny.
          Savage Phoenix, you will rise the Terrible Victress from devastation,
          The redemption of your ignominy a warning for all time.
She don't play, though... D-:

Inspired by Euripides' tragedy "Medea".
Arianna Jan 17
It enters
From the night,
A creature of torchlight

          Poised and ethereal

From pose to pose
With disjointed grace

          Limbs frozen, contorted
          In every-way triangles

Fair, infernal moon
Masked in the guise
Of those black-eyed Erinyes;
Decked in bells,
Clinking at the strike of feet
Punctuating the raucousness of flutes
With the kithara:

          Prowling beneath the rhythm,
          Twirling melodies through the candleshades

'Ere riseth Dawn,
Leaning upon the wild mountains,
When the vision retreats
Behind the veil, and is gone.
Inspired by "The Bacchae" and the movements of Balinese dance.
Arianna Oct 2018
"... I am old now, as the poets have warned.

The courtyard smiles still as in my youth,
Immune to the ravages of Time:

                     Pomegranate trees swaying
                     In perpetual motion,
                     Lush, and beautiful like flute girls
                     Unfettered by "the weight of years"*;

                     It laughs in garlands of ivy
                     And now, as then,
                     Sweetens my tears with roses."
* = "the weight of years", a term I have encountered several times in translations of Euripides' work; the phrase resonates. :)
noah w May 2016
Troy burns,
and her walls cave in around her
like a mother’s arms,
embracing her children sweetly
and sinking to her knees amid the swirling dust.

in the ashes, they fell her embrace
as they bleed and writhe and stare up at the smoke-obscured sky,
flames closing in around the edges of their vision
as their city burns and folds in over them,
putting them sweetly to sleep to the tune of victory songs in other tongues.

— The End —