From the Mouths of the Gods

Artemis and Apollo

Trapped in the center of the universe,
Stuck amidst a battle of the two poles of existence.
Gravity's hands grip arms roughly,
Yank in opposite directions,
Giving one half of me to the sun
and the other to the moon.

The sun copes with being leagues above and miles away,
Completely untouched by darkness or a human hand,
Released from gravity's cruel touch
And thrust forward to the sky.
Apollo plays the lyre and I belt his tune until
I take his mantle as the sole god of music,
The sun that gives and takes life
For selfish satiation and abandonment of boredom.
I hurriedly etch poems onto the chariot floor,
Lest magnificent creations be lost among the currents of my mind,
Feet fly without rhythm to a broken drum,
Hearts race forward blindly,
Nonsensical melodies spill from swollen lips,
Coveted by the Sun God.
Yet the day must always give way to night.

Artemis pulls me down from Apollo's chariot and into a darkened forest,
Trees so tall the light can barely fight its way through.
From the moment my wrist is freed from her harsh grip
And my bloodied feet kiss the cold grass,
I'm on the hunt
For a muse that will never be found,
For a drop of sunlight that can never be tasted.
I know not how to create,
Only how to become a reflection of what others wish to see.
Tears of stolen light spill from the sorrowful moon.

The celestial battle never ends.
Days wasted in a hazy heated high
Will always descend into
Nights searching for the will to breathe.
Artemis and Apollo remind me they are immortal,
Free to tear apart my flesh and mind for an eternity.