I am told to have a beautiful voice,
told to possess a soul with wings-
perhaps it has something to do with
the myth about sirens.
Oh long legs and cascade of falling
hair as they gaze upon passersby
with forlorn stares.
They gather seashells near ominous
caves, their song enough to lure one
beneath the emerald waves.
When promised false devotion they
weep, weaving tresses into seaweed;
for years we hear mournful wailing
by the beach.
Sirens sing a song for me, uncover a
world that lies waiting in search of
thee who knows what truth’s hidden
in a haze of duplicity.
Brendan invites us to write about mythical creatures. I chose to
write about sirens
Posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads