She's like an angel in disguise

Her eyes are like the skies

And they are cold as an ice

That can cut, slice and dice



I can stare them for an hour

No I think even for a long season

It's amazing how powerful they're

That even the whole galaxy was imprisoned



Even the goddesses fear to try

Cause even medusa can't keep a stare

But guess what even I die I don't care

Because it's sounds fair



I'll keep a stare

Even no one dares

As Atlas attempted to seize the heavens
he learned to bare the weight of the world.
Such is the cruel fate
of love to scorn turned.

And what of all the legends of old,
of hero's tales from bronze to gold.
Why instead of stone statues
are cement hearts held
in every man's chest
while we lay old stories to rest?

The songs of sirens
swapped for plastic promises,
Heads of hydras
exchanged for two faced friends
as our magic morphs to cheap tricks,
all that managed to remain
Is an Achilles heel for sincerity

So when two souls like worlds collide
and create a place of bliss,
too often one bares the weight
of both worlds, with the burden
of unrelenting loss.

A tale lies hidden etched in stone, buried beyond a vanquished throne.

Its king and queen could not have known, the cost of a legend is paid for in bones.


©

The Pleiades
Oh the Pleiades
The spirits of seven
Amazonian warriors
Who went into the sky
For protection against men

we come to rest in peace awaiting answers and
I slip after to the land of Nod...

woke, for a joke, we hope...

we see dis
similarities, I am shackled
standing five ten before
a trio of judges

in wigs, Shirley Temple wigs.

I grow three feet, or about two cubits,
and I stare my judges in the eye

my chains expanded with me, as bindings,
worthless, I conclude.

I can just, if I wish,
walk out, chains and all, standin tall.

---
being holy is easier than being sane in interesting times.
crazy
un mented real ization in
matters,
such as these: do we rule or obey or is there
another way
,
would seem holy right, hidden, for none to see, save
believers
who have been bred to the task of telling this story

holy story, jots, tittles, pimples and farts and all
standin' tall.

---
Drama of dharma, don't we know more good than evil as we grow?

Who would hinder knowing growing good?
An evil being, or a lie believed?

The lie, right? I know, Easy.
Answers come so easy some times, we forget the questions
on the test.

tracking hooves
hands gripping persephone's fruit
white dress trailing

she's shining
angelic, surreal, her light smothering the dark
nature's peace untouched as she steps through

a ghost of what once was

green melts to grey

her light fades.