“Venus Fastening Girdle for Juno,” Andrea Appiani, circa 1811, Wikimedia.

Part 3: Sweet Music Life-Composed (Last)

Dianeme trembling at my side, I, Tizmay,
Approached vine-invaded temple, double
Bronze door unhinged, column-collapsed
Outer porticoes. “Unnatural lurks therein,”
She warned of abandoned hallways, doves
Alighting in Theia’s empty naos, statue of
Bright-beaming goddess, shattered on
Floor, no offerings presented by attendant-
Sisters, now outcast as Pleiad starry lights.
“Scrolls of Orphic hymns I seek, recollections
Of poet-prophet Orpheus,” I stated, Dianeme
Hard pulling at my arm, eyes, face fearful,
Pleading, “Go no further, Tizamy.”

Single burning bowl of flame, figure reclining,
Bedridden or so enthroned, I alone entered
Scroll room, at feet of ancient one I knelt.
“Father, what musical refrains soothe your
Elder years?” “Bites of figs and fruit, sips
From ambrosial cup,” he replied, hoarse
Whisper. “For hymns of praise, blessed I
Was with longevity, dark decades beyond
Creative youth, existing musicless within
Undying tomb. Papyri scrolls of hymns
In stone niches held, all remaining unsung,
Melodic verses for needful hearts unheard.

“Orpheus, how can this be? How old? I asked,
Attempt to understand. “Ever circling sun,
Years without seasons blended as one, son,
Temple servant, slave,” rasping effort agéd
Hero explained, yet nothing justified his
Beleaguered, deathless end. “Some say I loved
Wrongly, abandoned gods, or they me, rituals,
Mysteries, praises to divine remain unwritten,
Untold.” “What hymns to be composed?” asked
I. “With blessings come expectations, gods’
Double-edged sword,” he replied, heart, eyes
Tired, such was his Orphic way of life.

“What advice?” I asked. “Gaze not upon the
Sun,” he stated, referring to Apollo, his gift
Of golden lyre. “Such suffering in dim-sighted
Elder years, what atonement is left to make
When one neither life nor death desires?”
From doorway, Dianeme stepped forth, as if
Deadly dagger-bearing or savior of mortal life,
Singing To Love Divine: “Unshakable heart,
Goddess admitted me, radiant presence shown,
Lifted from humbled knees, our palms touched,
Fingers meshed, equals we stood enthroned,
Living flesh melded with beaming light.”

“Orpheus and Euridice,” Frederic Leighton, 1864, WikiArt.

O! Honeyed voiced Dianeme, how Orpheus
Recognized his verse, rising august, youthful
Man, hymn-composing in strength and prime.
Into laurels he strove, stood at stone-frozen
Waterfall, began his lyre to pluck, his clear
Voice heaven rising. “Awaken ancient spring,
Stagnant we have been.” Sandaled-feet, flowing
Tunic, Orpheus into forest disappeared. To my
Father I presented Dianeme, his blessings
Sought, for as ancient muse stated, to some,
I loved wrongly, my bright mirror, divine
Reflection of self, body-soul, lessons learnt
From Orpheus, sweet music life-composed.

This  concludes three-part Tizmay poetic series.|
Here is modern-day Orphic Hymn by Jóhann Jóahnnsson 
from Orphée album. Thanks for reading.

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