Narcissus

 

  A child born,
beauty his mittimus to the fates.
Thespia the cell,
that held thrall his golden curls.
Eyes the blue,
of Grecian morning firmament.
His perfection,
a sun freeing night from the world.
Adored of all,
raised in rarefied cradle shrine.
The boy grew,
to man, extramundane in face.
His suitors,
queued at the village gates.
Men and women,
all the zenith of their race.
Yet Narcissus,
was seeking the truth of his life.
His sister par beauty,
yet in diseased lottery lost.
Never again,
to share the comforts of soul.
She left,
without knowing the legendary cost.
There was one,
whom he met whilst seeking his truth.
In a glade,
all alone she echoed obfuscate.
Yet in remorse,
he turned, still seeking unknowing.
Her words,
followed on occasion yet never to straight.
Lonely he grew,
envied upon his sublime pedestal.
No malice,
nor reason, insouciant to their cares.
Dalliance his remit,
and suicide his unvaunted veracity.
How they laughed,
the Olympians at his God-Head stare.
At length,
he took to solitude and the hills away.
Where one day,
in a tranquil pool he saw again his sister.
Such beauty ethereal,
as never blessed the earth before or since.
And he sat,
and spoke quietly of how much he missed her.
But approaching,
he leaned for a kiss, and she ran.
Bemused he sat,
and at length she returned to stare in lust.
So Narcissus stayed,
and talked with his only true propinquity.
Faintly he heard,
his words echoed as his body turned to dust.