Wounded Aphrodite
The rocks tripped me; I trod forward, upward to my lesson.
The winds choose not to make its presence felt, yet.
The sun bursts gloriously into the flat, baby-blue, sky.
The red brown earth held its moisture greedily.
The effort shows in pulse and perspiration,
a flush blooms on cheeks unused to color.
The house appears abruptly, from a froth of greenery.
The wind keeps its distance, as if sensing
its presence was not desired.
The golden sun valiantly
attempts to breach the houses gloom.
The guardians of house, home, and ether, leap forth.
as stone griffins, stern, etched by acid rain, stand;
earthly hounds dart wraithlike
through clusters of cluttering tomes,
and out the door to greet me.I enter.
The plaster shouts syllables, displayed in a military bent.
The house hungers for light, a broom,a feather duster fright.
The corner china cabinet displays a human skull.
Into this room walks the spirit of air, scared by storm.
God’s sacred light leaps.... only in the instructors eyes;
from crippled form, blue orbs full of mischief and the joy of flight,
reveling.... a wounded Aphrodite smiles.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009
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