March 19, 2013


How divine, a deity that sees off myths of death
Keeps greed and vast confession, a veil beneath his breath
A mystic of the universe, a master of your dreams
A coarse and rural empathy that's bursting at the seems

horse would gallop through the wind, with birds with wings of glass
To venture out their driven need to seek sacred morass
Calls from nymphs in revelry, reverberate the ear
His forest's vast creation made to lure some Bona Dea

While darkness wraps the woodlands light and sets free fireflies
The Faun's nightly concoction, of lutes and wine and lies 
Will lure a vessel virgin to a drugged, submissive state
Putting out her blaze of glory, always to interrelate 



Wayne Pitchko said...

nicely done Lena..

Berowne said...

Your poem is itself "a call from nymphs in revelry." Well done.

Optimistic Existentialist said...

Helena yuo have outdone yourself - this may be your best yet :)

Little Nell said...

Well I had to look up Bona Dea, so you get points for that alone. As usual you've captured a wonderful rhythm and woven in some amazing images.

Helen said...

Love the lushness of your words ...

Tess Kincaid said...

Magical...very nice...

Kutamun said...

I think thus is fantastic, the spirit of Pan flowing through your pen, ( or finger, these days!)