They always get it wrong –
The painters, the poets.
I am not a pale and useless waif
Blonde and weak, forlorn and longing.
Disappointment is not my style.
I am born of the Sea,
the very daughter of Kronos.
My bosom cradles the mysteries of life.
Why should I long for any man?
My silken hair is as dark as night,
The moon herself dances upon it.
My body is freckled, supple and soft,
A great feast forbidden to most.
Obsidian eyes that pierce the soul,
Gleaming with golden flecks of mischief.
A blinding smile that
Resonates with the energy of the Sun,
Beaming light onto him
Who is invited to look upon’t.
They always get it wrong,
The epics, the legends.
Can no one see me for what I am?
Enchantress is my way,
Love is my power,
Beauty is my weapon,
Truth is my secret.
My truest form is seldom revealed
But to him who asks, offers, prays.
Leave me a worthy offering, Beloved.
Kneel at my feet and worship.
Sacrifice yourself to me entirely
And I will lay bare my soul.
Get it right, I charge you,
So that I may be magnified again.