Poetry

Shatterglass

Within my soul, burn deep the flame
That begs of me: profess my name
To make my heart reflect the same
But I cannot, lest bare my shame

I know, to them, I must confess
To save myself this gruesome mess
For though it cause me great distress,
I only hope their hearts break less

Though every day, it pains me more
I dam my heart, lest burden pour
The sword that makes these wounds bleed sore
Chained deep within my broken core

But every day, and every night
I’ll wait until the time is right
The spark that lit my heart alight
Within my soul, the fire burn bright

Mythology Suite

The gift man was given was through great sacrifice,
Their form now burned by flame, so she paid the price.
Crying salt-tears of ichor that nourished and drowned,
In the depths of the seas, it was hope that she found.

In her old age, a woman recalled of a boy she had known.
Friends that he made and times that they lost.
Joy that he found and sorrow that he brought.
People who wept when they heard he was no more.
Stories he told of heroes and monsters.
Everything he would be when he grew up.
How fanciful was his imagination, that he dreamed of something more.

Shining sky, silent earth
Poet boy, shepherd’s birth
Drank the son from the sky as he sang of their song,
Listen well, so he said, for the season’s not long,
Sirens calling to men through the wind and the rain,
Cups that taste of their tears, waves that taste of their pain,
Wine-dark seas that they cry
Shining earth, silent sky

Weep not for that which was born of the land,
Mother of Monsters, beasts fathered by Man.
Bear-mother cornered; cubs slain by her hand,
Spurned by her husband and lost to their clan.
Man given a gift, but spared of the blame,
From Earth came that evil, made of her clay.
Warning to those who might try quench my flame,
If I am predator, you are my prey.
Strength not in spite, but of womanhood born;
Hell hath its fury, and women their scorn.

Now gone is the boy who flew to the sun,
Free of the tower, his wax wings undone.
Drowned in the water reflecting his strife,
His Echo released, an encore of life.
Still though, he sings, though his body is gone,
The past is dead, but the future lives on.