By Gala
Date: 2 April 2001
Cupid And Psyche
I am searching for my husband---
and yes, you could say it is the old tale,
a mother conceals him from me,
thinking I am less good than her son,
But you see...in this instance,
she is quite correct.
The mother is no less than Venus---
the Beautiful One,
and her son is Cupid
who took me to wife of love.
Only I blundered,
by not trusting in his love---
did not believe my heart,
had to see with my own eyes
what manner of being
had taken me by dark of night,
had given me utter bliss,
and in thanks
I hid a lamp beneath our bed,
loved him to sweet sweet slumber,
then lit the wick
to see if he was a demon lover or no.
Dear gods, dear goddesses,
he slept all unknowing,
his mouth still swollen from my kiss,
his lips beckoning me
to drop another there,
My husband was all I could have wished,
and I stood there astounded,
cow stupid, simple in amazement
that he was in fact, all I could have wished.
My hand shook---
and I spilled the oil---
oh my love woke in pain, and anger,
his eyes a mosaic of sadness, and despair.
Where there is no trust, he said
how can there be love?
And he flew into the night,
leaving me to call his name
to the stars that cared little
or the moon, that cared less.
For a day, I rocked, and crooned,
and yes, I prayed as well,
until the last tear had been shed.
Then I rose, bathed carefully,
and dressed as befitted the suplicant,
and journeyed to the temple of his mother.
Venus mocked me,
and swore that I would ever pay
for my betrayal, and caprice.
I took all her scorn,
and waited.
She set me to tasks,
odious, loathesome,
things designed to drain me
of strength, and life,
and whatever beauty
may have enchanted the son of love.
And now I am worn,
but it matters not.
The last thing in Pandora's box
was hope you see,
and while the look in his eyes haunts me still,
I know that he does love me---
somewhere.
So bring on your worst, goddess.
I am ready.
I could not love him thus,
if he did not love me as deep.
And I will wait for his forgiveness,
and love him with all or my being,
and his name will be the last
these lips will speak if need be---
But he will know that Psyche loved,
perhaps foolishly first,
but with every bit of her heart.
Cupid, dear love...come to me?
(Yes, there's more to the story...but that's his tale to tell...)
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