It hurt me, to see her broken,
Her cries they haunt,
My every waking thought,
I am left to reminisce,
To times when she was,
My embodiment of strength,
My sweet Aphrodite,
'Twas greedy of you reaper,
To rip her from me,
You forced her drink,
Of your bitter potion,
Her soul totters on the brink,
Of your tenuous maw,
To what ends must you take?
Oh faceless one,
Whose name I dare not utter,
Bring back my beloved,
From whence you took her,
You take and take and take,
Oh taker of men,
For once return,
Return mine love to me
YOU ARE READING
Song Of The Muses.
PoetryErato, ancient keeper of the golden arts . Whisper tales from eons lost. Remind us mortals of stories lost throughout the ages ,remembered only by you,the muses.
