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Andrew Jan 28
I'm rotting.
I don't know what happened.
I just feel like god
like fire burns in my fingers
and I can rip out your tongue.

she left because I got too
a n g r y
she decided that 'we should not date anymore.'
but now I want to burn the house down and
fall fall fall like
I C A R U S (for her.)
she is the sun; she is apollo
and I am the wax wings

I hit the ground
but
I AM STILL GOD
I'm rotting.
The house doesn't burn.
Colleen R May 2018
In this life time he loves me

And Icarus never laid eyes upon Apollo’s grace.

In this life time he loves me 

And Persephone eats from the pomegranate with a steady hand.

In this life time he loves me

And Achilles holds Patroclus without the knowledge of loss.

In this life time he loves me not 

And I ache for gods who do not ache for me.
Mel Harcum Jan 2015
I am twenty-one years old and
I have saved two lives—
a girl whose throat closed despite her
and a boy who thought he had no other choice.
By all accounts, I am
a heroine,
a savior,
some divine-palmed human spread thin
among peers who are the same. The same—
who fear the dark as fully as I
and need the quiet, sometimes,
when the din of all the mouths talking at once
becomes more heavy than loud.
Be gentle, love, approach me slowly—
do not touch my shoulder when
my eyes turn to glass and
know that I hate to be hugged
because your arms will trap my fear somewhere
within me.
I suppose there’s a reason no one writes
what happened to Odysseus
and how the gods felt after their story ended.
JP Goss Aug 2014
Deeply thrown to the maw of the earth
A gaze could own there all it’s worth
Never have extremes before been too depthless
And Transformed.
Light and darkness swallow one
As positivism is garbled and undone
Such a void of the ******, the saved
For neither have such slopes they braved
Or bedlam tamed.
Blesséd teeth of the darker cave
Lend me my voice, though starker, back
And echoed song sung,
Though lost in its ribs
Its to have in that chorus, black:
Harpish wings trickling bells and
Harmonious little sightless things
Loosed from dear Apollo’s light
Darkness scares Phoebus’ chariots
On which the fire-stallions ride.
In their flaming stead and ruthless might,
My frightful heels turned and taken flight.
JP Goss Aug 2014
Gentle winds in the rustling leaves
Remind me of your skirt behind the silent glass
I can’t help but chuckle helplessly
The memory exploits this welcomed fault
Though my mouth would never speak it.
Injurious pasts have ossified the skin
Sentinel stone is what remains, sojourned to Ascalon
Misery in the granite *****, stoic in emotion
I drew this targe so flighty, back turned to the alter
To find my steps at the Temple Aphrodite.
I would protect those who love, those who hate
For I stood, the interstice, n’er affy to one
Neither credence on this sealed tongue.
Priests of joy, your vines they spent
In time they found those cracks so well
Bloom in lush across the hardness
Of generations’ sediment
The heat and stirring from below
Pushed to the sun and carved in my aspect
Nurtured by those sweet waters of your stride
The language imbued from the portrait of your mind
Infused with my coldness found within
And crack and crumble as they light falls low
Such debris may let love in.

— The End —