Those feathers
were longer than life
stretched out in a way
that could brush along
the tendrils of death himself
Hera had mused to me one night
with spite on her tongue
lips thick with malice
and tone dripping of mirth
Cunning as she was
whilst spinning a sirens song to me
as she serenaded about the muses
Athirst in her quest
to taunt vernally
One night
She sang it proudly to the moon
A pinioned crown
perched atop
bronzed miasma
it bled crimson on her dome
That calamus
still sticky with brawn
stunk of terror
yet you spewed that ballad valorously
like the impostor you are
That saffron crescent fell ill
veered white at your hymn
and trickled down
from our aghast havens
She laid athwart
hell bent brines
and conceived enclaves
from your ignominies
Finished the arrival
with oblate surfaces
and polished shrubs
When spring had come
you dimmed your tone
Oh Hera
forlorn in your empyrean
perturbed
by the terrains deity
You spoke
such a whimsical psalm before
Trifled with the one
who ensnared Hades himself
just for a scant taste of enmity
even you could never fathom
For the reason is that
you are petrified of fire and brimstone
Éloa 
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