The Poet

The Poet

Monday, December 26, 2016

I Made Myth-Takes In Love by Ronald S Porter ©2016

Heracles had his twelve intractable labors
Seven arduous voyages, Sinbad had.
Myself, I had four wives in turn, 
more than enough to drive a man mad.
The first  was the Erinyes unleashed;
O, how her words did fly and flay.
The second, a Harpy, who fed on my soul. 
Tearing it from my core each day,
To regrow, as I slept each night, complete.
With each new morning, again she would eat.
Number three, like Euripides, slipped away
Nor could I ever lead her back but,
left her locked in the cold deep dark,
and so I felt my hurting heart bleed;
Happily, when I departed, she was freed.
Ah, by the last, she remains a mystery;
First she loved fiercely, then she was gone.
I lie awake late at night, abed and alone,
And think she turned Medusa's gaze
upon my heart and, turned it to stone.

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