Beauty speaks to beauty in musical harmony of muses
So sing to me sweet songs of serenity for heart’s security
And let me live in your love among lovely children carefree
Never ceasing relentless search for peace among peaceful people
With no dagger more dangerous that kind words and an open heart
So my departure is ne’er depressed in descending into such a scene
That I might live, too, in more than sight of paint on cold canvass
If you will but sing songs of serenity for such son as I am
Dancing celestial dances of the heavenlies to otherworldly music of harp and lyre,
Playing through sun and moon and stars to the ethereal rhythm of your heartbeat,
Protected by your hand from withering heat and desolation of an untended earth,
Place of our mortal birth and habitation in creation in proving to be our salvation,
Bequeathing law and order and uncorrupted justice to preserve us in communion,
In union with you and one another, O Apollo of the hunt, of truth and of prophecy,
Of art, archery and music as you shine from an abode from within the soul of Sol,
And when you come in such radiant beauty it is my only duty to bow and to kiss,
To lie down in dismissal of the world with nothing amiss, to rest upon your chest,
So strong, no wrong, an everlasting song to sing as you bring my life such delight,
Which darkest night shall never obscure in my own demure, trusting reverence,
In deference to your abiding, brotherly love, god to man, lover to lover evermore
Eye that watches this world I watch watching me,
What do you see across a sea of ethereal eternity?
And what can you be to me who cannot see you
In view of my infirmity so common to humanity?
Do you blink or ever think to write in the story
Of life and the cosmos so rife with pain and strife,
Or perhaps this story is of your own telling told
To multitudes of celestial beings being amused
By violence and war, anger and hunger hanging
Over yet another world that never asked to exist
Or persist in perpetual motion to its destruction?
O Eye of Horus that never sleeps, keeping watch
In this universe torn by the curse of humankind,
Are you averse to penning some lines of peace
In this ongoing narrative so imperative to our life,
Eye that watches this world I watch watching me?
How I know you love me is to be with me constantly;
And how I long to belong to you as you long for me,
But through many trials we each must pass for love,
Like Psyche and Cupid of ancient lore, who did more
For union of Love and Soul than the whole pantheon
Of gods and goddesses, but our own takes us higher
And we must never tire in the travail of communion,
As I remember how you rescued me and brought me
Into green pastures beside still waters to there abide
Till I found my strength once again and to begin again
To live, and more, for you to lavish me with affection
In perfection of compassionate passion day and night,
Under the light of both moon and the sun, but so soon
Did the Serpent bite and his might I could not resist,
So now we persist in drawing out the hideous poison
That separates us, yet in the frustration of tribulation
As we seek purgation there is only an inflation of love;
Ah! But my very soul is vexed with worry and distress
As I long for you to again be with me ever constantly;
And when will this end, except Father God command
And demand an ending to this strife so rife with pain?
Let the Almighty One speak now for the meek ‘n lowly,
And then we shall enjoy union in eternal communion!
Oh how the Evil One can appear as an angel of light, indeed, and how so very attractive the promises made! In my mytho-poetic series, this was my second encounter with wickedly alluring Bast. And would I give myself up to her death? This piece is an altogether dark beginning of an unsettling episode in my mythic journey. If you have not before, please enjoy now. (Also, this represents a continuation of my exploration into poetic narrative; not to everyone’s taste, to be sure, but poets do experiment!)
“It’s dark at night and dangerous without light,” she said, while holding candle by bejeweled, golden handle. “Vandals run as wild here as desert beasts… You are alone?” She was an altogether radiant maiden, fragrant with exotic oils and incense, and made no pretense of threat. “You should get up and come; you’re only some way from water and better rest in nest of greenery and flowers, neath protective bowers.”
Yes, of course I’ll follow. Why lie here so hollow in desert sand, waiting to be killed by wandering band? And so I struggled to my feet in complete determination to go where she led to be fed from clear, cool watering hole, though tottering on weak legs; nevertheless, in such state as this, whose soul would not beg to go on? So I approached her; she reproached me not, but smiled and beguiled my heart.
The candle? Now where? No where, but how? Still the flame with which she came … No, more expansive, impressive … even growing more massive. Wonder overtook me and shook me. Moving, flaming ball, practically brewing in her hand … changing colours ranging the artist’s palette. What mystic talent does this one possess? Her smile only widened but seemed all the more kindly, so I blindly tread forward toward this sprite of the night.
With every step the flame began to elongate more and more into some kind of straight slate. She could see my confusion, but remained sedate, content to await my arrival. But for what? To help or end my survival? All began to take more shape and I could not escape noticing that fire now burned underneath what looked like funeral pyre… Funeral pyre! I suddenly looked straight into the wickedly beautiful eyes of Bast, who’d cast her spell once again without warning bell.
“No wait! I throw out no bait,” she said in near desperation, as in exasperation I’d started to turn away. “Come no closer, then, but stay where you are; stand away thus far, but hear what I have to say… Stay.” I looked at her again — foolish sin — and she appeared differently, intently gently. Innocent yet magnificent. Calm. Herself numinous balm for all my wounds, hurts and pains and strains. “Don’t go away. Stay.” And so I did.
She looked sad, but under glow of bright light of the moon, not at all bad. Neither was she mad, but upon my stopping and turning back toward her, just a bit glad … mournfully so, but not scornfully as she had been when we’d met before and she’d set about to emasculate me! Had she changed? Perhaps she has a story, too, so why should I worry to hear her tale? Can I not bear as much, or shall I so utterly fail as a man?
“I was thrown out by my mother; blown out by God to live forever upon sod of earth,” Bast began as if in answer to my thought … but what had I just bought? “I am wicked, twisted, afflicted, and unacquitted. Restricted here … convicted of crimes I never committed, I admit I’ve become addicted… Oh! But hear me, dear one! Let some other sun shine in your heart! Give me mercy’s part, and let our relationship begin again without stain of past nor strain of lies!”
I began stepping forward toward her again. But what of funeral pyre? Is she still the same liar? Will she set me to the fire? Desert wind blew threw and somehow I knew … but I came well within reach of arm and potential harm, yet strangely with no alarm. She changed, I could clearly see; wrapped herself around me, bound me. I made not a sound. Nothing of this seemed to confound. “You have only to pass through the fire as if in a chasse.”
But pyres are for funeral fires, I thought to myself, though I’d already brought doom upon myself. I didn’t care; to escape the 
gloom of this world was enough for me to assume any change would be fresh breath, even death. How to pass through, though, when lying down and dying is what’s called for here? Bast laughed, but not half as cruelly as she could, and coolly explained, “I was speaking metaphorically, but not horribly, my love; certainly not with austerity or in vulgarity.”
Cold. Cold in her hold. Breath. Her breath smelled of death.
“Only lie down and drown yourself in the flames, and do not blame yourself for so doing… You’re going to be mine.”
.
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Here it begins: my long series of mytho-poetica inspired by two very talented writer-poet-bloggers ~ see below ~ one interwoven, multifaceted tale that would consume me for months. For those of my readers who have not read: Enjoy! (But you may want to begin with the two pieces that inspired me… Again, see below.)
![qadesh2[1]](https://noblethemes.files.wordpress.com/2015/08/qadesh21.jpg)
What am I doing here in this drear room in Bubastis in doom of shadow corner, so many sadistic strange faces? And who’s the witch that paces back and forth like she’s the frackin’ dream queen?
“Yeah! That witch is the bitch of war, my dear,” voice at my shoulder, and I shuddered. “She’ll dance and prance, but blood lust is a must for Bast; she just likes to drown her victims in fine wine first before lunging for the kill.” Light laughter. “Yeah, it’s her thrill.”
And the cats; I like cats, but their purring was alluring. Slap! “Bitch! Wake up unless you wanna be her boy-toy! She’ll suck you dry and leave you to rot in graveyard lot! Stupid man! I knew you needed me here; your haven is craven fear, right? Right! No might, no sight, no fight… Pathetic! Come here… No! Near, my love. Why the hell do you have an ear if you can’t hear?”
“But who are you?”
“Maftet, wife of Ma’at, but why in God’s name do you want to know? Just shut the hell up and stand behind me, kind of like you’re scarred, because you are ~ like an infant ~ far from home.” Wide shoulders, strong as boulders, silken hair, back bare and luscious. “Look! Her next victim, so unaware! Listen to her dictum, and the man is so blind! Men have always been, and there’s the purr of her cat to allure! Gods! I’ll rip apart the cats and make hats of hell ere I tear into her and chime Shai’s death bell!”
Bast like feline and soothed among cast and crew of old tale spun, told anew, unheard by little bird, “ah! but his mistress sees now how he’s ready to bow! Good so far; maybe she’ll steal him for her own meal, if she’ll stop drinking Bastian wine so finely laced, not benignly … Is she stupid, too; so putrid! She still doesn’t see!”
“See what?” Trembling. Assembling courage, but so damn pitiful in mystical presence of pleasance of Maftet, my savage protectress so ready to ravage … who? One and all to maul? Maybe I should crawl…
“The stich, my love-dove, so weak and bleak! The stitch on the rich bitch-witch!”
“Where? I see no tear…”
![Living_Ma__at_by_sphinxmuse[1]](https://noblethemes.files.wordpress.com/2015/08/living_ma__at_by_sphinxmuse1.jpg)
“Ha! No wonder! You blunder through life anyway; yeah! you need to stay with me, even after this day! You’re too damn blind to find your way; that’s how you stumbled into the gloom of this room in the first place, and with no trace beyond Ma’at … and she ought to have pity on you!” I moved closer to her back for lack of strength. Laughter, demeaning but preening, too. “Look! The stich covers more than a niche! At the bottom of her neck.” More laughter, this time cruel with some bloody drool. “You should’ve seen her before, just after… Star-knife slice and I made her a wreck!”
The man moved closer. His mistress pricked, gave an unseen kick. Ah! But Bast and Maftet noticed ~ it was really obvious ~ but the man was oblivious. And then the woman began to weave as something began to leave with spirit heave… And cat’s eyes turned green, so serene … hypnotic, exotic, erotic. It wouldn’t be long now…
Instinctively I grabbed Maftet for fear… “It’s alright, my dear, just stay near… We’ve played this play many times before, and it’ll not be you who hits the floor!”
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Note: This was all very gratefully inspired by the creative work of unbolt and Tony Single, specifically their collaborative work, the second part of which is entitled, Sekhmet. Thank you both for this fascinating, exciting new venture … not, mind you, an addition to their creative work. One might consider this an inspired ‘spin-off?’ Whatever the case may be, hope you (my readers) enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed imagining and writing it!
So silently, surreptitiously, and smoothly do you slide in with ocean tide to abide in abode of my soul, making hearth of my heart your home, again and once again, yet never to stay, to be held at bay, whatever I might say; so sing your song sung blue and true, old and ever-new. Have only some few become your lovers, who hover around your every word, hoping for your tender, titillating touch, not much but just enough.
ΞΡ
Oh sweet Selene of Yaşam Ruh’u, what do you do in your smoothly silken, silver brush through the air, so fair and wild, what we cannot bear yet in which we share but for fleeting moments, enough to lift our care. Ought we beware of you, so true but wrapped in mystery, your history largely unknown because that you have not shown. We have but some small share in the treasure you bring, as you sing in the breeze with eloquent ease.
As the world enters night again,
Greetings to the darkness, my old friend;
Will you hear the babies crying?
Will you hear the mothers sighing?
Will you count the money buying another round
For profound old men sitting at the bars
Looking at the stars as lonely cars drive by?
Will you cover the silent weeping?
Will you stand by the night watch keeping?
Care ascend like smoke; change is in the air;
Tiananmen Square
Lights up like the firefly
As we say goodbye
To the world we know, and hello to the new show.
Earth turns,
Heaven churns,
Hell burns;
And I bend to the darkness, my old friend,
Who ushers forward toward the new day —
Turning the page, dawning of another age —
Like the old, history will still unfold,
But the punctuated silence is the brilliance,
And here we are like some shooting star,
Seen and quickly assured we’ve gone unheard
As our world enters night again,
But it is in the quiet we begin . . .
One day flows seamlessly into another, night passing night,
As Gaia circles round and round His Majesty, magnificent Sol,
Even as Luna circles round and round her bound lover Earth;
Father Time keeps rhythm with Mother Nature in every crack
And crevice of Creation. . .
Light shines brightly, light shines nightly, at once radiant,
At another silently dim and serene, for Selene wears the dark
Of the Cosmos with stars for dress as she walks hand in hand
With Gaia between the days through nocturnal maze, and both
Keep pace with the heartbeat of the Universe, despite Curse.
And the great Eagle wings his way high in the sky, looking
Down upon all creatures moving to and fro in frenzied life
So rife with pain, but pleasure too, and he marks the minutes
Of trials and errors, strife and success, desires and defeats;
Day upon day, the great Eagle eyes the activities of humanity.
What are we, cast upon this orb? Who are we to dominate each
And every shore? We have seconds of eternity to make our mark
On the barque of Gaia in the midst of infinite, quiet Cosmos
That lives and grows without remark to the vanity of humanity;
We are sailors for but one season. . .
And we sail the Sea of Eternity enwrapped by heaven and earth,
Light and night with fellow creatures upon the same venture. . .
Ah! But to what shore do we sail . . .
As one day flows seamlessly into another, night passing night?
Someone died because another one lied;
Someone tried the innocent and tied him
To the stake for the sake of the guilty;
Burned him alive at a quarter to five
On the day of love for following the way
Of cross and celestial crown that brought
The frown of a silly but powerful clown;
But who would remember and who could tell
His tale in this land of forgotten memories?
As sand flows thru the glass, the wind blows
Ashes of Valentine round the hills of Rome,
His tome shot thru by little Cupid’s arrow
In barely narrow remembrance of real love.
Happy St. Valentine’s Day!
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