The Stag

In a grove of hidden delight
My flesh tasted a divine urge,
The gods’ covet as their right;
Warmth in the cold earth.

Artemis in huntress pose,
In her nakedness, sublime;
In my hand a red, red rose
Borne in abandon of the vine.

Such sweet tastes were hidden
In the very touch of ages
Carried aloft as gods have bidden
In many an old mortal guise.

In the morning I awoke in sadness
Torn between a promise
And the despair of solemn madness
Withstood in resolve alone.

It became memory acutely felt,
As dogs of despair ripped my flesh.

poem by Resten Swondo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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