i am no longer a girl;
my body has played host
to the fourth of the Fates,
and this is the twilight, unfolding.
the midday has seen clotho, spinning the thread
has seen lachesis measuring it, atropos cutting it.
and here i sit, a figure in the sunset —
a silhouette of a weaver in tattered dress
my heartbeat, a substandard thread,
a mess in my pockets
getting shorter and shorter
with each wound sewn shut
a seagull's flap,
a poke of a stick,
and all these stitches come undone.
a cautious breath,
a loosened thread,
and the sunsets learn a new shade of red.
i will pick you a bunch of sunflowers;
each one is icarus,
reborn from falling,
from trying to fly too close to the sun,
still facing its direction;
maybe it's a sunstruck shade of love, darling.
or maybe it's just a bad case of morning lunacy —
see, each one still has wilted,
each one still has withered,
each one is still a tale
of icarus falling to the earth.
and darling, maybe flying and falling for you
are still habits i'm yet to break.
— to the boy made of sunbeams
Kalypso sports within the waves
luring sailors to watery graves
but if they make it to her isle
there they may tarry for a while.
Food and wine are given a'plenty,
they are rocked into lust so gently,
Nymph, Maidens, Bacchanalian revelry
lead the sailors into darkest devilry.
*** and sin are openly displayed,
a salacious procession, ***** parade,
And all men their vices expressed
seek the comfort of Kalypso's breast,
her hospitality soothes, allays their fears
as she slowly steals away their years.
© Pagan Paul (05/12/18)
i hear my love,
faint to judge.
i hear the young man’s heart through my ears
it is me.
and his mouth is pouring but i hear hers
it wrenches me
i am bitter
i lose my breath.
the puzzle of puzzles,
which we call being.
part of my blackout poetry exercise. inspired by the tale of hyacinth and apollo
i no longer have all the things
i am proud of anymore.
the golds i have are gone
when i refused finishing a war.
the empire i brag about are gone
when i stopped fighting
the trusts people gave me are gone
when i didn't **** a man.
i am no one.
i have nothing left now.
but why all that
doesn't a lot matter to me?
i lost everything,
but i was not lost.
i was lost
when you laid in my arm
for the last time.
i promised i would protect you.
but i didn't.
i let him aimed you.
the stain of your blood
the last scent of your body
the tone of your voice
became an alarm to my ears. .
i wasn't dead
when an arrow hit my heel.
my real weakness is you.
- why did you have to take 'i will take an arrow for you' way too literally?
Don't say it
Oh, don't say it
Saying it changes everything
It's in your hands
The royal flush of my blush skin
You've got the cards to tear all I am from within
May your lust consume from March to June year after year
Before it's much too late for your sick guilt to disappear
All that's said in bed, young nymph lessons, life's not dead
Echo out those ancient stories in my head
Just how I won't say it first
Narcissus can't find the words
Lips so soft and silent
Actions not unspoken
Can a man reach the height of his dreams?
The true mechanic of righteous action
Outstretched grip of the ripping seams
Tumble down from its holy retraction
And realize everything is for naught
And everything you have ever sought
Lies in his graces dazzling bright palace
Lies of my own form the cracked floors of solace
Filled with the bloated, pallid, and free of ambitions
Tangled hair and deepening wound of my intention
A ****** pond greets you with its callous retention
Stowed beneath, dark images taunt these last mentions
As they all remember this will be their
As they lay down and look to god's cryptic
And they all search
He is not one but alone with the
Stolen from him, he finds his future passes
From teary grip
I guess it will never rain in these fields
because it is pouring
God has closed this asylum, to contain shades from Elysium
For you see a sudden sight, multiplied by their unending night
Lead hauntings to stare through their own shapeless eyes,
In the fields of mourning
Grove of Hekatonchires;
is reaching heavenly high,
wooden bodies columnar
stretching out in season and
grasping at the azured,
an assuring curling grip on sky…
Fantailed limbs descend,
into their cragged lines,
frozen elfin hands now dropping,
arms, palms and fingers
are all encased in rime.
Briareus, Cottus, Gyges;
weather, earth and deep seas.
Yet still you hold her tightly,
a comfort from the fright
softly swaddled; oh cloudy night!
One day you will meet someone
And you will understand why Icarus flew too close to the sun.
September's ploughed earth
sows the rains
it is something like D.H Lawrence's
' The Rainbow',
that you love
the Polish cleaning lady so
my Soul's countryman,
dear poet of the North
for now, Persephone still
walks the earth
fair Kore, soon to descend
to the underworld
back to an aged God in love
were I thus loved by a man
as to become his queen
as to be kidnapped by him
instead, all I have is you,
a woman's love unrequited
for a boy & growing stale
as far off winter calls
like a theatre scene
too much rehearsed
' In Vino Veritas' - ' In wine there's truth'. If you don't know the Greek myth of Hades & Persephone, look it up.
— The End —