All Hail Medea
Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone.
The inscription is illegible, but that matters not to me.
At this centuries-old grave I place flowers and moonstone --
As requested by my ethereal savior, friend, lover, devotee.
My first visit to Gravesend was via historical daylight tour.
Another attempted escape from a dreadful loss and daily boredom.
This landmark cemetery predates America by 100 years or more.
Yearning for comfort, I sensed only a dead-strewn auditorium.
Though the feelings persisted, I dared not reveal my plight.
Breaking from the group, I chanced upon a hidden burial mound.
Sitting on a slate stone, a tweeting bird subdued my fright.
Then a silence did ensue -- and a whispering from underground.
A mist ascended in the form of a desirable, raven-haired beauty,
Who ingested my pain and angst, diluting my secrets in oblivion.
Her voice was the sweetness that called my cells to sync-duty.
She smelled of paradise and her kisses raised a dead compulsion.
Meeting clandestinely as the summer turns to fiery autumn-rust.
Medea (her name) asks to be released from her purgatorial strife
By way of dark spells, old magic and a curious blood-crystal dust.
On this Halloween night, I will transmute ghost to fleshy wife!
The ritual begins as most rituals do: serious, focused and grim.
Within the pentagram, Medea fluctuates -- in all her femaleness.
She comes to me warm and steamy. I hear a chorus, a siren hymn.
I'm enfolded in the marvelous lure of a dying-to-eat ... succubus!
August 7, 2016
Camouflage Me A Poem - Poetry Contest
|