Medusa sits in forlorn silence,
fed by anger at the world,
remembering the shame she suffered,
before her sanity unfurled.A innocent abused by man
and raped by privileged god,
abandoned by her blessed brethren,
punished with a cold cursed nod.Athena's fury toward Medusa
for being victim in her home,
from maid to monster in an instant,
naked,
crying,
lying prone.Her only joy now,
furyed vengeance,
at those men who hunt her down.
Changed to stone,
they stand forever,
from staring at her serpent crown.Medusa sits in forlorn silence,
knowing doom is on its way,
as in the distance, music echoes,
and heaven's dirges start to play.She sits amongst her once live statues,
friendless and forsaken,
while even Delphi's oracle
sees no road to be taken
that spares her as the hunter's prey,
and lets her live another day.Young Perseus will see her dead
and she no longer cares,
another man,
another grief,
like all of them,
her virtue's thief.She falls beneath his unjust blade,
a small smile on her face.
The pain is done,
the race is run,
now she has found her grace.
YOU ARE READING
Land of The Dead, the poetry of oblivion
PoetryThe end? The beginning? The great drama, the great conflict. It is the culmination of our lives, it is the destination we have journeyed towards since birth, and we have no idea what it is. Disaster, death, celebration. What drives us? what defines...