It is the smell of an open grave. from The Oresteia
Birth pangs aside, Leda wrestled her torso,
with this growth proclaiming admittance
to the feast we call life.
Beautiful girl, you cause so much murder.
You are aberrant, a thing to be despised.
Yet men die for you; they kill their own kin
to gaze once upon your face.
So hateful this love,
this knowing, retched like the children of Cronos,
immediate afterbirth of revenge.
Gods above, we seek our freedom
from this cycle of decay
disguised in so pleasing a form.
Kill me now; I cannot live,
knowing that she will always have the victory.
6 comments:
i think if you were within my reach my fingers would burn with the touch.
what the hell are you on girl?
some kinda roll for sure!!
I'm scaring myself!
...of this, I see no escape; i like how you blend myth and our human condition, for i think that is the point after all.
Enemy,
If the cycle ended of Life and Death, Beauty and Anger, love and not love, what is there left.
i like your style - one foot of your soul in ancient times the other slap bang hard in the now. works well.
JohnB: I've always been influenced by Greek mythology, but lately I've been paying attention to the language in Greek drama--I don't think I am good enough of a poet to quite get the meter, but I enjoy the intensity.
Piktor: Gosh, I don't know. Scary thought.
RuSack: Thanks so much. Actually, some of this kind of writing is new for me, but I've always been a viseral kind of writer who also tries to employ the use of language characteristics from the great ones. I study so much poetry; most of it doesn't click, but when it does, it's a marvelous thing. I like your approach as well!
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