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I think maybe you're Medusa
Though I'm far from stone
Much closer to ******
Far out of my mind

Still

I am frozen, reduced a
Man to a moment in time
When I was sober
And you were kind
Possession is a concept that hangs in the air
That’s a dream given form
Between the is and the is not
The meanings that arrive
The ways you promise what you lack

The Greeks understood that life is organized — as tension
And that our bodies, like our souls,
A skeleton with wings
Always slip from absent hands

Memory unearths
This visitor from the wrong side of the mirror
An enormous misunderstanding at the very foundations
That can never be resolved

Cream and honey colored stone
Time compresses into flashes
The lock that only fits the key
The long chain

We create because nothing is ever enough
Nothing is ever finished
All threads entangled beyond all names’ returning;
The arrow and the bow in the flower of everything
AceLione Nov 2020
The sweat streaming down my eye brow
Looking at the arrow in my ankle that was shot by Paris' bow
Oh my briseis, please don't cry
My shield and spear are always yours as i point it at the sky
Zeus, you have blessed me with immortality but oh i am cursed
All my life i've been killing men for another's thirst
Finally my chains have been broken, i can breathe
This cold feels nice, my sword at last in it's sheath
Chris Saitta Aug 2020
Sunset whispers to itself
~No time outlives time~
The meltemi winds crackle the wild millet,
Graze-feed upon the stalks of Greek plains,
The pelican scoops up the honeyed Aegean,
Waves of sunlit anise and almond in refrain,
Vestigial as the sweet persimmon from Egypt,
The hammered warmth from the flat anvil of Africa,
Sunset whispers to itself
~No time outlives time~
“Meltemi” are the dry northern winds that blow across the Aegean in summer
Corrinne Shadow Jul 2020
I dare not scratch the surface Plato itched,
For fear I'd break my fingers on the stone.
My faculties in circles whirl around,
Which metaphor Aristotle would bemoan.

My femininity is undenied
And thus my musings, when they first began,
Would be utterly rejected, undeniably rebuked,
By one featherless bipedal man.

The History that gulped Atlantis down
Into its sunken depths, has made a grave
For all free thinkers, locked by secret PINs.
Philosophy, no more, these souls can save.

I carry naught but spades in both my hands,
Seeking to unearth artful thought's tomb.
Labor-sweat pours down, yet I am left to merely mourn
The heartbeat ne'er since heard from Athen's womb.
I wonder why all the famous men and women of our modern day are all scientists and inventors. Philosophy is such a beautiful art form and should be valued for more than just a degree that will allow you to be a philosophy professor.
Alex Scaife Jul 2020
Paris came back to troy
And saw Hector on the shore.
He told him he had found his love
But what he found was war.
Kelsey Banerjee Jun 2020
directionally challenged
athens is the only city
her feet knows,
she wanders down alleyways
undiscovered
but familiar
and sits beneath an orange tree.
she takes one plump
sunset shaded fruit,
peels back thick skin,
juice gushes down her arm.
yet she smells cypress trees,
olive oil offerings, and cinnamon.
she whispers prayer,
nimble fingers pressing
a golden owl.
At the valley
Of butterflies
In Rhodes, Greece
I encountered
Nature's love affair
Feisty flowers
Rainbow colors
Flying gorgeously everywhere
Beyond anybody's reach
Fluttering here and there
Once the caterpillars
Magically turned into animated fairies
Gently hugging the trees
With their soft and fragile wings
Their inexplicable performance
Has fully mesmerized
Thousands of travelers
Enjoying the splendors
Of this world
And to be one of them
I am so gratified
Several years ago I got a chance to visit Rhodes, Greece and I was inspired by their Valley Of Butterflies. Here is my poem.
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