Nine Nights

The night is soft, the air honed

solace lodged in the grey skies

as rain patters on so steadily.

Such nights slip before memory,

as she blooms wild and beams brightly.

A sudden lightning bolt,

above the staggering Titan

as he fondles her thigh.

The vehemence of longing pounded in both,

the kind that paralyses you with terror

as they matched the deafening thunder.

A ray of light,

rousing morning air,

and she is everything and everywhere.

She is Poetry,

the ecstatic harmony of her voice

tranquillises one,

mitigates one,

pacifies one.

She is History,

who annihilates

as she plays the lyre.

She is Music,

and the 'Giver of Delight'.

Crowned with ivy,

She is the Joyous

the flourishing.

She is Tragedy,

together with breeding sirens

who lured sailors to destruction with the sweetness of her song.

She Dances with what haunts one

as she speaks with the rhythm of her heart.

Adorned with a wreath of myrtle and roses,

She Charms every sight.

She is Hymn,

symphony on a hymn tune

as she bemused,

fazed and mazed an esse.

Personifying the sky

She is Celestial,

a river of moonlight

ocean of stars that never align,

one is driven to be lost in her paradise.

she is enchanting

and is bewitching

she is chaos

and is cosmos

she is of the strangest beauty,

the emissary of sagacity,

the darkest courage,

and all of Olympus trembles beneath her feet.