If loving kept the heart secure,

lives together’d be not for waste…

yet love doth remain so impure,

and love’s attempt no longer chaste.

Fleeing Roman empires of man,

Cleo wept for love’s betrayal…

men, nor Anthony, stately can

decree their heart’s not for sale.

Pale-fringed Menelope, in gilt,

did glitter of love’s brightest truth…

armor worn down by “fairest” silt,

beauty beguiled her stilled youth.

Aphrodite, sea-maid of yore,

in shades of aqua-gold and blue -

a blossom of silver she wore,

to chide away love’s weeping hue.

Sweet Persephone wore pale shrouds,

when visiting the empty land –

her eyes were swift as rising clouds,

yet slowed like ice beneath his hand.

Aionsene, girdled by doubt,

lived in twilight’s uncertain time –

her lips aware of growing drought,

while young men bought her for a dime.

The sea brought Venus in its lap,

she wore stone-washed jeans, modern now –

with ebon skin, an ear for rap,

yet innocence upon her brow.

Flame-haired Tienna, eyes of steel

wrapped in velvet and brown delights…

golden-veiled flesh did reveal

penchants for grief and bloody nights.

Lastly, Mother Nature arrives,

her breasts are scarred by constant war –

her eyes have seen those dying lives,

still man keeps his violent store.

I have squandered pennies on the street,

for hungry comfort - it not warms,

I wander down where rivers meet,