Another orbit complete,
spinning into the next
before the moment’s celebration,
the momentum progressing
through a selective survey
of goods to purvey,
perhaps gods and amulets
slumber in the mall, waiting
to be chosen by one
whose soul holds enough magic
to wake them to action,
unleashing thunderbolts and fire,
the ability to transform flesh
with just a touch, divine
reason and intellect smitten
by a tree throwing shade
on a river of protection.
Fetch Cerberus to your side,
toss a stick across the Styxx,
and make a friendly wager
on which head will catch
and ferry the wand, magic now,
back to you, to wield as you will.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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