Apollo And Cassandra

The arduous pursuit of dreams can take

The fantasizer into unpreferred,

Unruly situations. Some of which

Can force the dreamer to consider

Compromising their integrity,

Or ethics for the tasteful prize of said

Ambition meeting them halfway; a strange,

Pivotal dilemma which can leave

One brimming with regret when pondering

On why they did reject the previous

Proposal.

Accept the offer for the betterment

Of your ambition? Or decline it and

let tameless rue besiege you during the

Impending days the fates have left you to

Endure, meandering the joyless realm

Of dim undoubtable regret? Like so

A beauty sired by Priam, king of troy,

A dazzling maiden named Cassandra,

Was met with a dilemma of this sort.

She longed to own the gift of prophesy,

To peek into the future of the many,

Who other than the God of prophesy

Himself to bless the wishing maiden with

The wise capricious art of foresight.

However, what was not predicted was

The thrall she would unknowingly emplace

On him, the God especially adored

Her mien, and thus as she approached to speak

His lustful disposition stole his wit

In upshot amorous replies were doomed

To flow up off his tongue. Apollo was

Ensorcelled by her winsomeness for she

Had made the unavoidable mistake

Of owning mesmerising beauty

And after she informed him of her wish

The God replied to her with this,

“Cassandra gorgeous maiden luring more,

The longer one would stare the further

They would fall, magnificent your figure,

Your eyes do glow,

You claim your aspiration brings you here,

You wish to see? To borrow temporarily,

An eye from fate; a piece of destiny,

To peek at all the happenings still yet

To happen, due to soon occur? A peep

behind the veil of doles, a sample of

Elysian prudence, to observe what heav’n,

Has scribed for many in its stone decree?

As I am God of all these omens,

Divine I am, the seer of these times,

The vessel which these omens bend to please,

The single being which the string of fate,

Contorts its mulish limbs as way to

Oblige, I am well capable of

Imbuing you with Godly foresight, but

I must inform you, the bestowal of

This gift will prompt a needful payment, and

The fitful worth of earthly riches hold

No relevance to me; my precious

The prospect of your bareness tantalises me,

Forego your maidenly adherings once,

Disrobed and wholly for my favour,

Your beauty thralls me, you are what I want,

You shine enough to best the beams of mine,

And leave me stuck inside a plaguing drought,

Replace the flames you have deprived me of,

And kindle throbbing passion with your mouth,

Abandon chaste for my embrace, my flame,

For you impassion me, I seek to dine

To thrive in sensual euphoria

With you aside me, this is my design.”

The child of Troy brooded on his request, she acquiesced, her true intentions kept clandestine,

“Illume Apollo, I accept your terms,” she spoke,

“Empower me shrewd God of prophecy,

And in return you’ll see the changeless glow,

Held by a body filled with modesty,

The loins no man has yet to taint or foul,

The waist no amatory hand has gripped,

The skin still unbeholden in the nude,

Prepare and lose your traits that conflict thrift,

You’ll have me for yourself before next noon”

His promiscuous imaginings paved way through all his priorities, and he was hasty in the installation of the angelic ability, not long after Cassandra felt her power emerging, a shred of beatific essence sown into a mortal’s soul,

Anon a gleaming wreath took shape above her,

A wreath which signified divine bestowment,

Confirming that her gift was present, but,

Cassandra reconsidered her enrolm’nt,

Apollo peered at her, with eyes made wild

And rabid by licentious fantasies,

A hangry she-wolf teased and taunted by

The sight of bleeding meat outside the cage

She was entrapped in, waiting for the girl

To leave her chaste extolling frame of mind,

And to discard a layer of her clothes,

To signal when he should discard his own.

Cassandra though, renounced her promise of

A favour, and rejected him, repulsed.

Predictably, Apollo was irate,

Infuriated and insulted by

Her arrant odium, not once before

Experienced. The sun, the dashing God

Apollo, lauded for his matchless gifts,

Revered and praised by hordes of women whom

Would bolt towards the chance to have him,

Or cave into his blandishment because

He wanted them.

The glowing God with hair as golden as

The bright celestial he rallies through

The sky. August and chivalrous, unmatched

In potency of charm? Denied of love?

And by a mortal lady?

He had the mind to spitefully withdraw

The benison he dawned in her but not

The means, still-wrath will always find a way

To equipoise the scales with vengeance.

He couldn’t reclaim the blessing, so instead

His crafty wits, (returning from a bout

Against his eager lust triumphant)

Thought up a way to leave her with her prize,

But render them completely useless by

Beshrewing her directly, to contrast

Her issued power.

Apollo’s Diatribe:

“Beguiled I am no more, seduced by you,

Allured by you, made sightless by your mien,

Too blind to see your plans to thieve and con,

With sight restored by rage, I loathe your scheme,

A daisy wearing poison petals,

To spite the slender limb which looks to pluck,

A leaf up off its skin, you are a dove,

A graceful peacock with a serpent tongue,

Your cozens are misleading, cunning and

You are astute; but I, Apollo, God,

Whom draws the flares on through the sky,

The ball perpetually ablaze, the fires

No aqua waves or frosty winds can tame,

The burning, quenchless dome whose ONLY shame

Is being silenced by those lunar horns

Each day, the horns, inconstant in their forms

But still, they’re edges seek to meet and touch,

Rotating through its waning likenesses,

A daily action which commences when

Astraeus holds the skies inside his clutch

A process starting ev’ry vesper

I call upon the power held within

The flames I drag, to burden you

“In consequence for thy deception,

I vow, I curse thy auguries to come,

The crowds wilt deem thou Dionysian

And I declare you’ll be, denounced and shunned,

Thy visions shall be viewed as sheer delusion,

Thy claims of augury will be dismissed

Thy blessing shall not benefit a single life,

Unhonoured boons and gifts shan’t coexist,

I vow incredulousness will haunt thee,

May every prognostic phrase you speak,

Assume a madman’s rambling tone

APPEAR;

As all, but wise, a charlatan, a freak,

Your gift of prophecy shall linger on,

The veil of sapience and lunacy,

Thy intuition shall be fictional,

To ev’ry mind it’ll be a falsity

Thy boding will be seen as risible

The great efficiency thy talents hold,

Shall be diminished and demeaned by those,

WHOM DEEM THY WORK;

As lies emboldened by a vatic tone

Enjoy thy newfound capability,

BUT SEE-

How useless a prophetic voice can be,

When those you seek to help

Are deafend by their incredulity”