rivers of magnolia petals and
honeycomb-checkered skies,
sugary ambrosia
peppered on flushed meadows and
pomegranate syrup seeping
from the bark of trees,
the gods are stained
by the godly treasures of olympus,
shimmering in their satin robes
they earn when dawn and dusk
tender to the work
and ingots of nectar gold
molded to a honeyed throne.
but the starlets do not see
the vinaigrette laced with poison
and the emerald elixir
bubbling with toxic foam,
leaving a lying spillage
of sweet pear and spring lotuses.
you do not see
their susurrus deceits spewing
from their enchanting mouths
because they infuse with a beat
of the dawn called an aubade
and the ephemeral caress
of fake redamancy.
you can not perceive the gods,
for how can starlets know
what they get blinded by?
-valkryie
• • •
a/n: olympus is literally one of my most proud poems and my baby.