I go below,
Not into the darkness, no
(how I wish it were so!)
Down, down into the light
Where nothing sweet can grow;
Not the pomegranate or the grapes for rich red wine,
Oh, no, not on this shriveled vine.
Dried out and faded, ripped from the ground
All trampled underfoot - Artemis and her hounds!
Chaos and war, fleet-footed huntress -
‘Tis not I! Not I…no, no, not I.
So why then, why, must I hunt and campaign,
Deny my own world so others can cling?
This is madness of the cruelest kind.
I am lost in the hunt, unable to find the narcissus
Of my tender world, that sweet white flower, petals unfurled.
Oh, if only I were to pluck such a delicate bud
I’d be free to be the woman I am, purest of blood,
A woman so powerful, so mysterious, so true -
A fluent Eleusian, plutonian initiate through and through.
Take me below…so, so far below…

I’ll be with you.

Dena L Moore
January 21, 2010