Pathogena the Temptress.

Many great tales of woe, have cautiously been told,

But none so great, as formed by Pathogena's plight.

The story was born, in words within a palace of gold,

As all the readers in the world, fainted at the sight,

The night sky, stimulated, as the sacred page is turned,

And watchers reach for the knowledge that surrounds,

As Dythan chained to modesty, had wrongly learned,

That only Pathogena's love could save him from his bonds,

The Poet, Dythan, sat donned in confidence's cloak,

No more entranced man a quill in hand had ever served.

So hypnotised, his eyelids dropped as Pathogena spoke,

And the Gods wept, quietly as Dythan sat reserved.

She danced wondrously enticing with every dare,

So Pycrias, sin's brother, majestically came down,

But Dythan in a trance was helpless without a care,

And Pycrias' hopeful smile, turned to a tempest frown,

Preparing in his secret den. The moon shone in disgust,

Pathogena waits for innocent Dythan to enter from above.

She is dressed in beauty, humour love and mistrust,

For Goddesses play fools of mortals in love.

He harkens near trembling, at every scene,

For a rendezvous with a Goddess was surely ecstasy,

But poor, bewildered Dythan, so white and crystal clean,

Flattered to a flirting rose that trapped him endlessly,

And Pathogena hearing his approach reached or beauty's mask,

And greeted him with an empty smile of delight,

She felt secure, as she deceived and furthered with her task,

Of fading and enslaving ancient falsehood in her fight,

Her disguise was convincing and he fell for every lie,

And as he was mortal weakened she tempted even more,

He had no defence against the strength of a woman's eye,

Those eyes destroyed each resisting hope he bore.

Suddenly as she hypnotised this mortal withe ease,

The Gods grew impatient with this cyclic never-ending sin,

And so they answered Pycrias' silent, saviour pleas

By creating a storm that the Earth would shatter in.

The winds blew hard and the rain that fell was great,

Shattering thunder made it's presents known,

But Dythan was hypnotised and felt no disturbing hate,

For his senses were muffled and were Pathogena's own,

But the anger of the Gods was not to be trifled with,

Pycrias was handed the sceptre of truth- and he used it well,

He entered the love nest and challenged Pathogena's myth,

For she was not what she was willing to tell,

So to win Dythan she had to wear foreign colours,

And act the paly of life, scene by scene.

Now Pycrias, sceptre in hand , stood against her powers,

And he crushed her mask to the ground so green.

Dythan awoke and saw her face as it really was,

Lessor than a mortal and shunned by every goddess,

And he fled with the memory of fighting for a cause.

He had fallen as all have to the love of a false priestess,

And Pycrias as loneliness was sent to question Dythan's life,

But Dythan had learnt the greatest lesson of all,

And loneliness had great effects upon this manly strife,

For he could see himself, understand, and still stand tall,  

For his Pathogena had been a disappointment to his very soul,

But every spider born in Spring has golden webs its goal.