Graces, keepers of bright horse‑lands
where Kephisos flows through its own undulating
— I speak toward you.
It is by your nearness
that sweetness enters a life:
a skill arriving clean,
a face briefly lit,
a name carried a little further.
Even the gods lean into you
when they gather,
your thrones set beside Apollo’s gold bow,
your attention turned toward
the slow authority of Zeus.
Aglaia, Euphrosyne, Thalia
— look down on this small procession,
its steps held lightly by fortune.
I’ve come in the Lydian mode
to speak Asopichos’ name,
for through you his city has been lifted.
Echo—go to the dark‑walled house
where Persephone keeps her quiet.
Tell his father this:
in Pisa’s valley
the boy Orchomenos
has set on his young hair
the bright, winged wreaths
won in the games.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 6th, 2026 05:31
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments6
a beautiful piece my friend
Thanks my friend 🙏🕊️
most welcome
Deep meaning in mythologic terms from the underworld of Persephone to the heights of Zeus there is an existential journey here that pales the trips of Odysseus or Jason. Well written my friend
My friend, this really moved me…celebration and grief exist together without either diminishing the other. The honor belongs to the living, yet love carries it beyond death. Beautifully rendered! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
I don't know those characters well! lol.
Quite a story here . And well written.
Wonderful piece of writing Rik.
Andy
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