O Athens, I sing of the unfortunate maid,
whom Midas of hell sent a demon as her bridegroom,
as she prayed.
Her thoughts filled with the daily work of saints,
amen and her mind closed to the verge of her impending doom,
as it taints.
Believing her invulnerable to evil’s power,
she slept with a heavy head through night’s long stretch,
when some cower.
As morning light begins to peek into her new prison,
its formless arms bind her as a wretch,
it is risen.
Helios’s early gift is stolen and even fire is black,
just as quickly as she prayed to the god, she is played
it is back.
“I am dead, Charon shall bear me, the boiling pitch shall have me”
she longed to scream and found the words delayed,
she’s not free
The passage of time, praying for the fates to cut the string,
she was released and violently so,
by the thing
She woke to the later morn and to a newer fright,
“it can come back for me any hour though,
day or night”
The devil that attended that mournful morn,
contented at just her fear, waiting
for her scorn
she crouched as some do, year after year
watching for the demon’s return, hating
most her fear