#troy - Hello Poetry

There, she lies on the altar Almost held the sun she— almost in her hands Opened up, a rose-bud chaste petal by petal by blood, with a sting, so sweet and sweet, as sunset reborn a bee; she was gold and silver and black at once. Almost held the sun she— and no wax wings used Oh, Icarus, love you did a wild sky, — yourself a light-licked doom as your father cried, Your father cried for you. A veil as simple sour starlight she wore as wings of wasps as beetles she giggled Icarus, flew that you —and with tongue-tied elation too Icarus, she rambled on for hours long. A letter she held in spring kissed hands —I will wed you to the sun, her father had sworn. The sun—and a sun he was, child of the sea, some sword in honey dipped; now her awaiting. And blushed she did herself a dawn The altar, on the altar. Almost held the sun she— Swallowed a mayhem for the father's sin. Icarus, tell me of the plummet. Tell me of the greens you saw, of blues, of whites, of the whirling world— Men go around around her their soles all ready to crush lost skulls an empty moor. Twirling, the dust, like may have her hair before the wedding day Strands and strands, gently styled— Spears, swords, rubbed to mirrors, to lakes lifeless Armors and ships laden with life, with sails, the fluttering doves; As the winds dance once more— as harbors vacated, as waves torn apart for the horde, as move they on— on too the sun— as She still lies. Icarus, Icarus, was it the ocean that cupped its palms, or did the soil cave in as down into dark's slick throat you slid? Surely, was soft, the sea's well-loved mouth, Surely soft or true She lies on the altar a trinket glossy on a hoof, a ****** in the bell, how does one say— the valley of lilies, she grew it inside. Spilled out on the stones, they are fed to the flies. Almost held the sun she— Icarus, must you know You did not sleep a wretched silence within the womb of war. No crescent blades you drank down a leaking throat— She lies on the altar, vanquished for moon — for metal upon bone for blood, for blood, for blood. A father’s green promise— Seasoned to rust before the king Icarus, on the altar she lies— a ripened land far, far away lures her king to another rosy worship. Icarus, Icarus, on the altar

0

Aug 3, 2021

Aug 3, 2021 at 7:45 AM UTC

Ayesha

Iphigenia

There, she lies on the altar Almost held the sun she— almost in her hands Opened up, a rose-bud chaste petal by petal by blood, with a sting, so sweet and sweet, as sunset reborn a bee; she was gold and silver and black at once. Almost held the sun she— and no wax wings used Oh, Icarus, love you did a wild sky, — yourself a light-licked doom as your father cried, Your father cried for you. A veil as simple sour starlight she wore as wings of wasps as beetles she giggled Icarus, flew that you —and with tongue-tied elation too Icarus, she rambled on for hours long. A letter she held in spring kissed hands —I will wed you to the sun, her father had sworn. The sun—and a sun he was, child of the sea, some sword in honey dipped; now her awaiting. And blushed she did herself a dawn The altar, on the altar. Almost held the sun she— Swallowed a mayhem for the father's sin. Icarus, tell me of the plummet. Tell me of the greens you saw, of blues, of whites, of the whirling world— Men go around around her their soles all ready to crush lost skulls an empty moor. Twirling, the dust, like may have her hair before the wedding day Strands and strands, gently styled— Spears, swords, rubbed to mirrors, to lakes lifeless Armors and ships laden with life, with sails, the fluttering doves; As the winds dance once more— as harbors vacated, as waves torn apart for the horde, as move they on— on too the sun— as She still lies. Icarus, Icarus, was it the ocean that cupped its palms, or did the soil cave in as down into dark's slick throat you slid? Surely, was soft, the sea's well-loved mouth, Surely soft or true She lies on the altar a trinket glossy on a hoof, a ****** in the bell, how does one say— the valley of lilies, she grew it inside. Spilled out on the stones, they are fed to the flies. Almost held the sun she— Icarus, must you know You did not sleep a wretched silence within the womb of war. No crescent blades you drank down a leaking throat— She lies on the altar, vanquished for moon — for metal upon bone for blood, for blood, for blood. A father’s green promise— Seasoned to rust before the king Icarus, on the altar she lies— a ripened land far, far away lures her king to another rosy worship. Icarus, Icarus, on the altar