August 1, 2024
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A web of contusions
that collect, bruised sometimes but always intact—
if one could see what lies behind
then perhaps
the truth would come out,
there are far
too many
versions of the myth that exist.

Crafted by Hephaestus on the instructions
of Zeus,
she was the first mortal woman,
red confederacy lips
and a gaze that could the ocean to relapse
into silence,
she spoke words which only a few
could understand.

Draperies of dusk descend, diffusing
the spirit of free inquiry
and universal
toleration which has since affected
the civilized world,
she makes her way slowly into the lush
green open,
her robe sliding slightly off the shoulder,
what was she thinking?

The crunch of leaves beneath her feet,
she jumps from
ledge
to ledge, from tile to tile,
the heaviness of the box both overwhelms
and excites,
what we see and what we hear isn’t
always what it seems.
She can feel the black
eyes of ravens closing in on her,
the questions is;
what now, if ills of humanity have been released?

 

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Open Link Night #366 @dVerse Poets Pub