autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

Philos & Thelema, on Tantalus

‘Neath the fruit tree, hungered and reaching
Inflamed with the need, becoming beseeching
All lessons to learn, far beyond teaching
Caprice of long years, finally impeaching

Set forth, the evidence, of nonchalant crimes
Tales of thoughtlessness most the betimes
Satiated only by the madness of rhymes
Bespeaking illusion’s grimacing grimes

Spurned of old all culture and ways
Lost for eyes that, with contrarian gaze
Bedeviled innocence into indolent daze
Chuckling delight, her thoughts to so craze

Led by his hand, soft and yet, ruddy
Into the deep wilds, more closely to study
Ways without care, all logic made muddy
Plucked and ensnared, the tryst, odd, and bloody

Himself grinning to think victory most pyrrhic
Dipping close for to delve into tender spirit
Only to find surrender devoid of all merit
Angry echoes of loss, were there ear to hear it

Sipylus still rings with the fullness of his woe
Manisa and Izmir in such shadow softly low
Memories of anticipation, so fleeting, they go
Only weeping rock still carries the ancient flow

‘Neath the fruit tree, hungered and reaching
Tantalus still stands, rigid for his breaching
Hunger denied and delight fallen to leaching
Prisoner to longing, torment’s tireless preaching

Standing as he does, tempted for eternity
No relief or release does his eye hope to see
Temptation turned to torture that he cannot flee
The thief of Olympus, he is a brother to me

Many nights I have known such tempting
Cool, lapping waters, sweet fruits ‘pon boughs bending
To reach as if for life itself, with hunger unending
And weep for withdrawal cruelly hope a’rending

The thief of Olympus, he is a brother to me
‘Neath the ancient boughs we stand in complicity
Oh ambrosia and nectar! The only thought gave we
Was to court by fearless hector delight’s sweet company

No regret found in it, for all the pain, our eyes still smile
We lean upon one another, wounded soldiers that rest a while
Lest, betrayed by our groaning, this condemnation defile
The truth of yearning, like this torment, eternally worthwhile

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