Aphrodite's Tears
A/N: This is a poem written in protest to the recent blatant censorship of all NC-17 fanfiction on this site. What a sad day it is when we wake up and realised we've compromised our imaginations and passions. Aphrodite is used because I've always been fond of her and if anyone, she of all stands for the indulgence of love and desire and there's a strange honesty in that I admire. It's a beautiful thing, whether creative, soulful or lustful and we are all the poorer without it and higher-rated 'fics.
In a decaying world of stone and phantoms
Void of passion, desire and unbridled imagination,
Those blazing colours that make our souls vivid.
We crumble with loss and wonder what life feels like
To feel and burn with feelings of raw sensitivity
With hearts filled to the brim with emotion
To know that the world does not fade to black.
Amongst the ruins, mourning the summer
Stands a woman, beautiful and terrible in her fury
Once golden-haired, long-legged and shimmering with glory
Built from passion, living on love, feeding on desire
Emerging from turquoise depths to lay claim on our hearts
Draped in seaweed caressing her nakedness
With reverence and lust, it clings to her
As we all did once.
She gave us the gift of love;
Hearts to love, bodies to love with
Innocent and pure through rough wildness
This is her gift.
Her gift we forsook as we rebuked her
Shunning her from our souls, proclaiming her wicked
Striking away her comforting warmth
To don a coat of loneliness and misery in her place
Forsaking a lover's touch as we drive our shining goddess away
And sparking out the sun in all our selves
The light that brings fire to our hearts and loins
Throwing away the traces of imaginative colour
Cursing the brand of her touch,
Treating our goddess as a shamed harlot.
And Aphrodite weeps.
Now reduced to a frail old woman,
A pock-marked face spun from sagging skin
Gold faded into silver
The wickedly childish light in her eyes burnt out
By the flame of our scorn
Anger; our last passion, before we lose even that.
And still she weeps for lost passion
For those who forsook the art of love, the need to express;
In all its forms.
In fear of our goddess deflowering innocent buds
In a fit of her love for us.
But now those pristine flowers cannot blossom,
They lack nectar-filled hearts, sweetened by life
They become a tangle of degenerate weeds
And our goddess cries for them, for all they will never know.
We compromised our passions
And flung the awkward thing from our breasts
And now inhabit a world built on emotionless intellect
Though all lasting monuments are carved by love's hand.
The world is grey and dead, its soul long stripped away
When the lynching mob rejected one who cared for us
All turbulent powers were lost to us
And we have forgotten what lust was,
What is was to be bathed in the burning petals
Strewn upon us by Eros' arrow.
We reject desire, it is unmentionable once more
Faded from empty souls
And we are both redeemed and destroyed without her.
And Aphrodite weeps on
As she grieves all her slain children,
Lamenting in the crumbling turrets of a hollow world
Stripped of all feeling and want, the blood in our veins.
As she wanders; loveless and alone
Searching for shattered remains of souls bound by inhibition
Scorched to nothing, with no phoenix to arise
From the smouldering ashes that whisper
Of a shadow of passion.
We are hollows, gaping wide and jagged, without her
And the ghosts of our haunted hearts cry with her, still tangible.
We are alone.
A/N: This is a poem written in protest to the recent blatant censorship of all NC-17 fanfiction on this site. What a sad day it is when we wake up and realised we've compromised our imaginations and passions. Aphrodite is used because I've always been fond of her and if anyone, she of all stands for the indulgence of love and desire and there's a strange honesty in that I admire. It's a beautiful thing, whether creative, soulful or lustful and we are all the poorer without it and higher-rated 'fics.
In a decaying world of stone and phantoms
Void of passion, desire and unbridled imagination,
Those blazing colours that make our souls vivid.
We crumble with loss and wonder what life feels like
To feel and burn with feelings of raw sensitivity
With hearts filled to the brim with emotion
To know that the world does not fade to black.
Amongst the ruins, mourning the summer
Stands a woman, beautiful and terrible in her fury
Once golden-haired, long-legged and shimmering with glory
Built from passion, living on love, feeding on desire
Emerging from turquoise depths to lay claim on our hearts
Draped in seaweed caressing her nakedness
With reverence and lust, it clings to her
As we all did once.
She gave us the gift of love;
Hearts to love, bodies to love with
Innocent and pure through rough wildness
This is her gift.
Her gift we forsook as we rebuked her
Shunning her from our souls, proclaiming her wicked
Striking away her comforting warmth
To don a coat of loneliness and misery in her place
Forsaking a lover's touch as we drive our shining goddess away
And sparking out the sun in all our selves
The light that brings fire to our hearts and loins
Throwing away the traces of imaginative colour
Cursing the brand of her touch,
Treating our goddess as a shamed harlot.
And Aphrodite weeps.
Now reduced to a frail old woman,
A pock-marked face spun from sagging skin
Gold faded into silver
The wickedly childish light in her eyes burnt out
By the flame of our scorn
Anger; our last passion, before we lose even that.
And still she weeps for lost passion
For those who forsook the art of love, the need to express;
In all its forms.
In fear of our goddess deflowering innocent buds
In a fit of her love for us.
But now those pristine flowers cannot blossom,
They lack nectar-filled hearts, sweetened by life
They become a tangle of degenerate weeds
And our goddess cries for them, for all they will never know.
We compromised our passions
And flung the awkward thing from our breasts
And now inhabit a world built on emotionless intellect
Though all lasting monuments are carved by love's hand.
The world is grey and dead, its soul long stripped away
When the lynching mob rejected one who cared for us
All turbulent powers were lost to us
And we have forgotten what lust was,
What is was to be bathed in the burning petals
Strewn upon us by Eros' arrow.
We reject desire, it is unmentionable once more
Faded from empty souls
And we are both redeemed and destroyed without her.
And Aphrodite weeps on
As she grieves all her slain children,
Lamenting in the crumbling turrets of a hollow world
Stripped of all feeling and want, the blood in our veins.
As she wanders; loveless and alone
Searching for shattered remains of souls bound by inhibition
Scorched to nothing, with no phoenix to arise
From the smouldering ashes that whisper
Of a shadow of passion.
We are hollows, gaping wide and jagged, without her
And the ghosts of our haunted hearts cry with her, still tangible.
We are alone.