Orpheus and Eurydice

He sang beneath the olive’s restless shade,

his lyre a thread to bind the morning air,

while Eurydice danced through light that swayed.

But fate, unseen, was waiting in the snare

a serpent coiled within the meadow’s breath

and bit her heel; she fell in silence there.

Her voice was gone; her lips cold as death.

He found her still, the sun already low,

Cursing the gods who sealed her in the depths.

No song he knew could keep her. Still he had to go

through caverns of black and rivers born of tearful cries,

to plead with those who ruled the world below.

He played, and shadows softened at his sighs;

the iron gates unlocked with trembling keys;

the Furies wiping the salt from long hollow eyes.

Persephone leaned forward on her knees;

even Hades let his stony mask decline,

and gave him leave to steal her back with ease

He spoke but one rule: he could not turn behind,

not a glance to see if she was truly there,

until they both had crossed the world’s divide.

He climbed the path, hope a fragile prayer,

each footstep echoing slowly breaking faith,

his longing sharper than the stagnant air.

And Eurydice, quiet as a wraith,

reached out her hand, though he would never see;

their destinies balanced on the edge of fate.

At last, a glimpse of daylight through the scree

appeared ahead, a trembling, widening flame

and still he doubted if she followed free.

The silence pressed. Her whisper called his name.

He turned. And in that glance, he watched her fade,

as smoke dissolves, as ashes lose their claim.

Her eyes forgave him even as they swayed

into the dark, resigned to what was done,

while he remained, a hollow man by himself betrayed.

He stood alone, beneath a burning sun,

his music lost, his lyre an empty frame

and knew that some defeats are never won.