do you hear yourself
how your voice echoes
through closed doors
and thickly stuccoed walls
and proudly pagan flesh
aching particles of hope
and sensual suffering
so unbearably intimate
as to precisely pierce
with poignant accuracy
a naïve lover’s heart
like an arrow sharpened
by divine Diana herself
still furious at Acteon’s
unfortunate vision
Salt Lake City 29 Dec 2012
George Ellington 
George. So strong. I always felt sorry for Acteon–innocently stumbling across the bathing goddess. Beautifully crafted, and I hope this particular archer missed, but I don’t think she did.
LikeLike
You are so kind, Susan. Thank you for this. It’s true, isn’t it? The deities of old were capable of such caprice! Not so very different from those of today. Adoration–in its many forms–can bestow such pain. Acteon was a plaything of a capricious goddess. I feel for him. Poor sap.
LikeLike
Ah, me too. But we are all poor saps, aren’t we, in the end…
LikeLike
So we are, Susan. We are so superficially drawn to stimulating tales and visual feasts and bright baubles. But mostly–mostly–is there anything we would not do for love? To be a king is unthinkable. A knight? A distant dream. I see these years pass as I stumble about in the tattered cloth of a pawn, more and more leaning on a gnarled stick just to hold me up.
LikeLike
I feel what you are saying here, George.
LikeLike
Echoes, echoes always… following us…
Beautifully put 🙂
LikeLike
Thank you so much.
LikeLike