Spun gold the hair adorned by stars,
light cast about her head,
the lady of the legend told by men
and all about her mystery lay lovers yet undead.
Her charms drew souls into the web
of deceit and desolation,
and came from four corners to behold her power
to wreak worldly devastation.

Beauty was the weapon used on men
who saw this siren's silken gown,
and kneel they did as if she had a scepter,
and sat stone-like on the ground.
Her origin unknown... men daring not to ask.
While in her realm she anchored them
in her unrivaled light, content to suffer anything,
eyes covered by a film.

Unearthly song of lust upon her lips
echoes 'cross timeless void of space,
heralding start of endlessness for want of fruit of loins
and covers ears with her embrace.
Six moons encircle throne spinning
'round her inviting breasts of honeyed cream,
while suckling sprites held in arms of night
hide secrets in their dream.

From fingertips sprang streaks of light
causing earth to quake,
jewels sprinkled 'bout the ground
in pools of colored light as a fiery crystal lake.
Morning broke and came reality,
her splendor left as a falling flake
descending into abyss from which she came,
spells on men found gone, her power ending.

Left behind a silver cup,
gold flowing fron its ornate handworked rim,
to tempt the need of man to drink
from her destruction silently awaiting him.

Norma Cornett Marek ©7-8-01