Wounded Aphrodite
The rocks tripped me; I trod forward, upward to my lesson.
The wind chooses 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 is not desired.
The golden sun valiantly attempts to breach the houses gloom.
The guardians of house, home, and ether, leap forth.
Stone griffins, stern, etched by acid rain, stand.
The earthly hounds dart wraithlike through clusters
of cluttering tomes,and out the door to greet me.I enter.
The plaster shouts syllables, displaying in a military bent.
The house hungers for light, a broom. Her feather-duster fright.
The corner china cabinet displays a human skull.
Into this room she walks, a spirit of air, scared by storm.
God’s sacred light leaps.... only in the instructors eyes;
from her disfigured form, blue orbs, full of mischief and the joy of flight, revel....
teacher, a wounded Aphrodite, smiles.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment