Her mother grieves,
Poor woman,
To have a beast as a daughter.
Stuck between two rocks
Next to the symplegades and Charybdis.
Her tentacles just won't stand still,
Her necks are longer than skyscrapers,
Her teeth, she has three rows,
And each of them sharper than a cold gust of air.
And beasts, more wolf than dog,
Bite and scratch at nothing,
The moment you pass by.
As her heads thunder down,
Yelping, doglike,
Sharp teeth now stuck in flesh,
You cry out: "Stop!"
Without even knowing if she could understand.
-
Author:
Thallo (
Offline) - Published: October 12th, 2026 13:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
- Users favorite of this poem: Fränz Müller
- In collections: Mythology.
Offline)
Comments1
Mythological indeed it speaks from out of the past in poetic lines. Well done
Thanks!
You are very welcome
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.