Hestia

by Vernie Lynn DeMille

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“Hestia” by Howard David Johnson

Evening light finds me,
Feet bare, hair unbound,
Spirit straining against gentle chains,
On the back step.

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I smell the smoke
From our first autumnal fire
As it curls it’s way skyward,
In lazy circles.

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It mingles with
The low clouds that threaten
Rain, or perhaps snow,
To become the air I breathe.

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Warming my back
With a tender flame
Even as it burns and guts
Itself on the altar

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Of home, happiness,
And hopeful promises
Made when I believed
That I could change it all.

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I watch you,
Still steady, strong, and brave;
A foil to my wondering,
Questing, yearning heart.

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You sacrifice your all.
A heady offering of
Wine, oil, and meat,
Honor, love, devotion.

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While I dream
Of my place at the top
Of Olympus
With the old Gods

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And the power
That runs by immortal birthright
Through my mortal veins
To change the patterns of the sky.

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Granddaughter of Earth
And Heaven,
Forever feeling swallowed up
By my father’s fear.

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I still long
For my freedom.
From the well-learned terror
Of rebirth and disgorgement.

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The worshipped has become
The pilgrim; straining, burning, dying,
For a chance to change
What is written in the stars.

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But I am too weak,
Without you,
My captivated captor,
To change cloud trails.

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I sink around you,
Like a fog or haze,
And envy the clouds
That fly away.

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