Marble Hands

I saw heavy clouds hide the sun’s infinite glare.
Rude melancholies wound Apollo’s bow.
Like mist from a cauldron, they fill the air,
And drive dear buds to Hades below.
They were conceived beside burning shores.
Where feigned limbs of heroes stain the red haze:
For if their bloodied tears gleam in our lores—
Offering their souls to the senseless days,
It is their suffering we freely eat.
Their wide wounds, rich wells for our vanities.
Are memories inked for a jovial beat?
Wearing masks of conceit on our frail knees.
As their homes are judged by a soulless jury marble arms bear this weight mournfully.


Daintily feet sail through lush green meadows,
And flaming lilies balm her lovely eyes.
But tooth and claw she loved for the mad god,
Her fair face entranced by his staff of pine.
That strange staff bringing primeval melody,
And rapturous joy, as she dances freely.
Madness mingles with ecstasy in her soul.
Her head thrown back, as if to shake the sky.

Anguish threatens to unspindle her hair,
Asking scene among the bliss abounding.
Memories in that sea of black churning:
Maddened hands and unkempt eyes preach unworth,
But she sees him riding forth on panthers back
Ambrosia in his locks—mirth of wine,
She smells, for his scent beats mortal frame.
Now, crystal streams flow with milk and honey,
By the wealth of a goddess in her hands,
Rejoicing newfound powers—mad gods’ gift.

The elation has shattered evening pace,
And the moon appears in brilliant resolve.
He leaves the lovely maiden in golden trails,
As she remembers the yarn of his misfortunes:
Fleeing heaven, parentless wanderings.
And dear Icarius, whose blood ponded,
Like the sweet red drink he taught him to make.
A smile grows on her face, despair groaned, but she roared.