Sing, O Goddess
by Aza Li
entitled to fame and blazing glory,
born better than your father.
prophesized child so feared,
the gods diluted the ichor in your veins with mortal blood.
you would forfeit it all
if it meant you got to memorize
the curl of his lips as he smiled,
kept from harm in the sanctuary of your arms.
greatest of all greeks,
tell me –
what was it like to love a mortal?
you are a god
unbound by time with power in the syllables of your name,
each as striking as spring water on a parched tongue
and as precious as the scarlet river of life that trickles down the chin
of the priest that dares to speak it.
you are infinite,
and of all the souls that walk the earth
it is he who you choose to call yours.
he is nothing but a butterfly compared to you:
impossibly fragile and ephemeral,
his lifespan shorter than a blink of your eye.
but, no matter,
for your love will make him eternal.
exiled prince and disgraced son
there is nothing to adorn your name –
no gleaming gold, no valiant deeds,
no crown of laurels.
when it falls from his lips,
it may as well be dripping in ambrosia and wine.
most beloved –
what was it like to hold a god?
he is made of your wildest dreams,
forged of glory and pride;
he is the lightning that refuses to be trapped in a bottle.
you understand, then,
why storms are given names like his
once you’ve felt his skin on yours.
he pretends it is safe for you to love him,
but there is a tempest that thunders while his heart beats
and his grin beckons for war,
with is aching rage that scorches his veins;
even you cannot erase this.
you know he will love you to ruins, until kingdom come;
it will be the story of your tragedy that will scrape the stars
and echo through time.
he will be your downfall, but don’t worry –
sing, o goddess,
the rage of achilles;
tell them how even the strongest
crumble to their knees for love.
sing, o muse of tragedy,
lament the sorrows for the fallen patroclus
in a language so ancient,
ghosts have forgotten and gaia can hardly recall.
tell me, o tragic lovers -
when all fell to ruin,
and the fates demanded sacrifice,
was your place amongst the stars worth it?
Author’s Bio: Aza Li is a pseudonym. She is fifteen years old and in her sophomore year of high school, even though she’s barely taller than a sixth grader. She loves greek mythology, dogs, reading, and most of all, writing. You can follow her @cursivelines on Tumblr, where her inbox is always open to anyone who’d like to send her a message (especially to photos of dogs).
For More On The Magazine: Discover Here
To Read About What Inspired the Piece: Visit our Instagram