Descent into Madness
I go below,
Not into the darkness, no
(how I wish it were so!)
Down, down into the light
Where nothing sweet can grow;
Not the pomegranate or the grapes for rich red wine,
Oh, no, not on this shriveled vine.
Dried out and faded, ripped from the ground
All trampled underfoot - Artemis and her hounds!
Chaos and war, fleet-footed huntress -
‘Tis not I! Not I…no, no, not I.
So why then, why, must I hunt and campaign,
Deny my own world so others can cling?
This is madness of the cruelest kind.
I am lost in the hunt, unable to find the narcissus
Of my tender world, that sweet white flower, petals unfurled.
Oh, if only I were to pluck such a delicate bud
I’d be free to be the woman I am, purest of blood,
A woman so powerful, so mysterious, so true -
A fluent Eleusian, plutonian initiate through and through.
Take me below…so, so far below…
I’ll be with you.
Dena L Moore
January 21, 2010
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Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.
Thomas Moore
