My Maenad

I am a dervish.
Winding my way through
these woods
Skin of wine in my hand
wreath of vines
on my head
feel of lips on my skin
sharpened blade on my back
tracing those steps
of Hers,
of my, my Maenad…
Scent of blood on the air
lick my lips, twitch my nose…
drench my hair in that life-
of Hers,
of my, my Maenad… 
I am inside with them,
those killers of Orpheus.
Our insanity,
it is a shell that wraps
around my soul
cushioned with Wine
sharpened with Blades
comforted by,
My Maenad

Reviews

[.]

. it is delightful to witness the journey of a gifted young philosopher ... in you ... sanity and insanity are tricky business ... i had my sanity questioned by my mother, my brother and my paramour ... but i turned the situation on its head ... and that doesn't prove they are insane ... just that they are cynical and i'm not ... just my thoughts after reading your poem ... :) ...

[David Benson]

I enjoyed the alliteration of winding, wine and vines in the first few lines. That propels me through the rest of the work, and I like what I read. One thing, however. I'm not one who can twitch my own nose, though I dearly loved Elizabeth Montgomery when when she twitched hers. When I read that line in this work, I see Elizabeth.

wow, that was amazing. i loved your word choice and imagry. keep writting!

[Mauricio Montoya]

sounds like you're going to war.
nice work.