Two Poems by Courtney Glover

 

The Dark Muses

 

There are, as we know, muses of poetry, song and art of divine splendour.

But what about the other muses? Those of a darker, more tenebrous nature?

Muses of mayhem, chaos, lust and war. Dark muses of ethereal beauty sublime.

For it’s said that there were once nine dark goddesses, long before Zeus’ time. 

 

(One muse for self-indulgence and greed.

 One muse for green-eyed envious deeds.

 One muse for blood-lust and war.

 One for mayhem and chaos galore.

 

 One muse for unrestrained desire and lust.

 One muse for grief, heartbreak and mistrust.

 One muse for vengeance and unbridled wrath.

 One for acrimony and discontent vast.

 

 And lastly, one muse for malicious thoughts and  

 cruel intent.

 Nine dark muses, goddesses of arcane powers, 

 deities of malcontent.)

 

Long before sunlight lit the green fertile fields, with trees laden heavy with fruit, lush and grand.

Long before the Greek gods, in their ivory towers atop Mount Olympus, ruled man. 

Muses of considerable power, nine goddesses that either led men astray or made them kings.

Goddesses influencing mortals and their sadistic desires and all the chaos it brings.

For these were dark times, when even the sun itself barely lit the sky above. 

When peace and tranquility were but a dream dreamt by those who prayed for love.

A world born of havoc and mayhem, when bedlam ruled the savage day. 

A world fuelled by discontentment and malevolence, a maelstrom of disarray. 

 

Nine muses stood tall, atop it all, as they glanced down upon mankind and sighed.

Pandemonium was their gift, as one by one they hung their heads and cried. 

For it was not them who fed off of mankind’s prayers, but the other way around. 

When looking for someone to blame, it was only mankind to be found. 

 

Collector of Souls 

 

Her: “It’s good to see you.”

Him: “I know it’s been awhile.”

Her: “I heard you joined the army.”

Him: “Yeah, that was a crazy ride.”

 

Her: “I heard rumours in town. That you died over there.”

Him: “You can’t believe rumours.” He knew she still cared.

 

Her: “So, what kind of work do you do now?”

Him: He held his breath, his thoughts screaming loud.

 

Him: “I’m a collector of sorts.”

Her: “A collector of what?”

Him: “A collector of souls.”

Her: “I doubt that very much.”

 

Him: “You see that old black Buick? New haircut, new clothes? 

They’re part of the perks, of being a collector of souls.”

 

She smiled an amused grin, and patted his chest. “If you say so, sweetheart. But you’ve travelled far and need your rest.”

 

Him: “You don’t have to believe me. Maybe it’s better that way.”

 

Her: “Oh, you never told me! How long can you stay?”

 

He smiled a sad smile, put his hand on her back, “Not long I’m afraid.” It was time that he lacked. He kissed her forehead, saying, “I know you’ve been sick.”

 

With tears in her eyes, “You seem to know all my tricks. Seems like I can’t hide anything from you. Is that why you showed up, out of the blue?”

 

Him: “I’ve always loved you. I’m so sorry I left. But I’m here now.” 

 

She silently wept. With teary eyes, she looked into his eyes so blue, sighed a sad sigh, saying “I never stopped loving you.”

 

Him: “That’s why they sent me. I needed to see you one last time. Not once in all these years, did you ever leave my mind.”

 

She finally realized that he was telling the truth, looking into his eyes, those big baby blues. He never lied, was never this bold. “You really are the Collector of Souls.”

 

Him: “Are you ready? I promise no pain. The cancer will be gone. Only sunshine, no more rain.”

 

He held her tight, her head on his chest. “Close your eyes, my love. You can finally rest.”

Courtney Glover is originally from Fulton County, Georgia. She is a writer, published author, editor and amateur photographer. She is the editor of The Sacred Feminine: An Open Skies Collection anthologies, as well as the various Open Skies Poetry anthologies.

She currently lives with her family in New Jersey.