Tomorrow, Your Apollo

Countless Kingdoms these legs’ve wandered
Plunged in tides and yet still risen
Volumes of knowledge I’ve yet conquered
Shelved this head a virgin prison.

Ancient verses I‘ve been taught
Thousands of tributes I’ve thus spared
Alongside servants I have fought
Yet love still finds me unprepared.

Wandering seas led you to my shores
And framed in light you gallantly stood
Through my heart a wavelength tore
And sparked a fire through the woods.

You emptied my mind of ancient kingdoms
And cleansed my soul of native tides
Snapped free the bars of endless prisons
And promised a love in which we’d rise.

But the hands of Dionysus let loose the wine
And waves of skies those mean reds swallow
Clenching valiantly my prophecy divine
As she rains the bleeding heart of Apollo.

“Love and madness,” he screamed with rage
Muffled by my suffocant breath
“Will fall to thee an endless cage
And lure swoons to their deaths.”

Fleeing the city of fallen ruins
To seek the words of Guinevere
I followed the road less travelled
To a fairer maiden it’d then steer.

Tea met me with the Fair Helen
Who spilled her heart out on her dress
Wearing the armor of beauty’s felon
And fragrance of Lady MacBeth.

Roam did I the lands with Caesar
Of human blood he’d spray perfume
Climbing the balcony to try to please her
Jesting at scars that haven’t felt a wound.

He drove me into the arms of Picasso
Where I played with forces I did not know
Pumping my veins with blood-filled tabasco
That let the seas of madness howl.

I sensed it all begin to fade
Captivated by the Serpent’s lullaby
I completely faded away
And murdered my only alibi.

Deep, deep down a deep, deep valley
Tickled a blazing glow
Who should I see but the brilliant you
Upon the pyramid of Maslow!

Looked back down a Ponce or two
At a wrinkle-collecting fountain
And realized that to reach the top
You’d have to turn the mountain.

A sapphire tinted pair of wings
An Angel wand’ring hidden spheres
Onto you my body springs
And into yours my faint arms flare.

With you lies the myth of  Socrates
A question far, far yonder
Untold volumes of hypocrisies
Still yet, I grow fonder.

In the heart of another crisis
In the fate of another tomorrow
You’ll be my Dionysus,
And, I, my beloved, your Apollo.
PoetryHillary Wen