Hesperides' Golden Apple

You keep my fate into your purple golden
hands, Hesperides. You hold the power
to soften my desparate soul into singing
in praise of this day. Before that murky
Mother of you all, o fire walking Nymphs,
The blackwinged Nyx will come and drag
me down into her mysty abyss where
flares of death dreams sow the shrieks
of unrest through the dark.

I pray Thee, o Evening Nymphs, to call
upon the swift lightening Dolphin or the
soft breathing Swan, on Cassiopeia’s
bright shining Nova, to save me for one
flash of eternity and humm some rhythm
into my poor empty words, twinkle some
wisdom over my goofy guy gurglings.

I pray Thee, o purple golden daughters
to bestow me with your apple gift: renewed
to find my lifetime back on the dark side
edges of this day and sing my stumbling
words in praise of all the loving hearts
around to ease the pain and sooth the
fears for lonely hours of unrest in the dark.