her beauty is like a thousand heaven-skies
like a wistful rose before it wilts,
and like the glimmer of thoughtless, painful
Gold.
Gold is what she is, she is Gold;
more than a coin or an ingot or necklace is Gold,
more than hair, more than her hair,
more than the purest wedding ring,
she is Gold.
because like her, Gold cannot feel,
it has no face with which to smile,
and though her roseberry lips turn up
at the corners,
she is not smiling, not truly,
and though her eyes swim like the sea,
drawing me closer, drawing us closer,
she is never happy,
and though she is goddess of love
she has never loved.
an image is what she is,
a snip-snapped perfectly framed picture of a
woman,
not real, not real,
only Gold.
YOU ARE READING
Lyre
PoetryA book of poems, mostly connecting to Greek mythology. If there's a myth of any culture you'd like to see a poem for, PM me and I'll see what I can do! . . . who else will tell of the broken heroes, myths that never spoke to hearts like yours and mi...
