Efforts are futile and escape is fleeting

Typhoesus doggedly pursues me across the oceans of distance separating us

Its hundred heads hound me in my dreams and waking hours

Voices float around my head that singe my soul and burn my passion

Your face that peeks from the corner of my memory is eclipsed by shadows

I drown the songs of the Sirens with the poison of life


Like a thief pursued, waves race to the shore’s edge lined against the canvas of white, blue and green; the golden dial glides on her leather-brown skin as she walks the length of the shore

They play tug-of-war – her and the wind – and, like a thief in the night, Darkness descends upon Paradise breaking Nature’s din

The harpies of voices return, sibilant in their laughter, moans, cries and shouts

The upper voice lauds the sea swirling, beckoning you into its aquatic embrace “Feel the tiny kisses on your sand-soaked toes,” it teases, “the smooth tongue on your back and its warm fingers on your nape”

Colliding against the top voice, “Does he think of you?” taunts the second voice “His warmth presses against your body – not.”

The third voice meekly murmurs an inaudible “Good tidings come to those who wait”


Nature’s uproar is silenced by the second voice’s operatic soliloquy

The kaleidoscopic landscape recedes into Hades’ realm walled in a mural of grey and black

“Don’t fool yourself,” mocks the middle voice, “you’re a lonely figure with no one to receive or give love to. You’re no one warm enough to dispel the chill of the night”

“His mind sees another body, knows another soul – not yours!” bellows the second voice

Continuing in gleeful spite: “Your femininity nor your passion is not what he needs. His mind seeks another, smells another and desires another. The sight of you burns his eyes; your touch is ice upon his body. His soul is rankled by your presence, you unsettle his heart”


Gloria in Excelsis Deo!” shout the chorus of angels summoned by the top and the third

The chorus grows louder shattering the orchestra of the second voice

The glass of the poison of life hasn’t touched my lips yet the songs of the Siren slowly fade away

Demeter joyously splashes a rainbow of hues on the canvas of life

From the moaning and the crying, a new – but familiar – voice resonates above the concerto of voice

 “You are sweet angel of my dreams. Your warmth is the salve to the chill in my bones, you are no fool, I am,” you say, your lips brushing against my cheek

Gloria in Excelsis Deo!” shout the chorus of angels summoned by the top and the third

 “You are the breath of life upon my soul that has long been dissatisfied; the caress upon my wearied heart; the touch of passion upon my unfeeling body; you fill me with your passion and honeyed femininity, carrying me to dizzying heights of ecstasy,”  you declare with candour as you pull me towards you 

Your face peers vividly from the corner of my memory and I drink the honey of life – your voice

Gloria in Excelsis Deo!” sang the top and the third


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