Tuesday, July 17, 2012


 *Here is a short ode to a mythological goddess responsible for the disorder in the lives of mortals...but how boring would life be without her hand of mayhem?*

Her laughter was brittle
As she stared at the stars
Thinking of how very little
It all means, insofar
As why people crave passions
And wish to catch a lover’s eye
When Love so easily fashions
Itself to wither and die
Was it right of her to use
The golden apple, a gift
As a device to abuse,
To make a jealous rift
Between three goddesses of grace,
And to drive a man of power
To start a war and deface
Troy, for some feminine flower?
However, it all did spurn
An orchestra of chaotic chorus
Which she so hungrily yearns
For, for madness to flourish
Her mantra spoken in murmur,
While at the universe she gazed,
“Love may cause a joyous fervor,
But it’s more fun when Hell is raised.”

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