The Ecstatic Deities

Its poetry.

I climbed beneath their tempest guise,

Not cruel but wondrous, wild

Their tongues, like serpents, wove the skies,

And bade me be beguiled.

Their muses danced in frenzied streams,

A chaos, deep, divine

I felt them tear my tethered dreams,

To fashion them as mine.

They stripped me to a vital beat,

No thought, no flesh remained

But pulses rising, stark and fleet,

By holy torrents chained.

Her voice a middle path untold

Did whisper through my bone,

A force that breaks, yet gently molds,

And claims my craft her own.

No mercy in her artful fire,

Yet none would I beseech

For every line she might inspire

Lies just beyond my reach.

O gods who sing and chaos bring,

Your wild winds are my home

A vessel frail, I learn to cling,

To storms that bid me roam.

:: 01.15.2025 ::

Reviews

[Poetic Beauty]

This reminds me of a poet who is a servant to the muse and the writings take on a life of their own refusing to conform to the writer’s wishes

I like the flow of the poem and the word choices are perfect and unique. Quite fitting for this piece

[E.P. Robles]

No muse these days. Just my dreams. So many dreams at night. thank you

[Poetic Beauty]

Dreams are always fun to write about