From a land ravaged by a wooden horse
with a golden apple for the fairest of
the divine beauties appearing to a prince
so young, so impetuous in judgment thereof,
There came a poor beautiful stranger rugged but
destined for the supernal fate to rule the mortal
to the beautiful eyes of a maiden queen ethereal
in beauty, graceful in act, and hapless in love.
Blindsided by Juno's machination, swept by passion
growing strong, growing stronger for the stranger,
the queen bade him with tears and roses in succession
day and night, in desperate attempt to keep his presence,
his body and his soul, all but an entreaty so futile, so forlorn,
with a promise of her kingdom and her fidelity in return
for nothing but his surrendering of himself to her and herself to him
till the mortal fate was ended, till one had to cross the River of Styx.
Alas, but the queen's to be thwarted, she's to be abandoned
by the divine plan forced by the arrival of Mercury, god of war
whispering to the poor stranger for the imminent departure
for destiny far more magnificent, far more supreme, as dictated
by Jupiter, god of all regions crossing death and life forever
who put forward a divine plan over mortal feelings however pitiable.
Thus did the stranger set to sail the seas full of perils ever more.
The queen defied, she cried, she pleaded, but all ended in nought
as the poor stranger was to depart cruelly with no tender words of love
that's planted, nourished, and admired by the queen so now distraught
by his betrayal of her love with her plea wreathed in tears and flowers.
Now her love became her poison consuming all of her ever more,
Now he became her foe ravishing all of her in surrender of love.
But what of it when all's ended in a sea of heartaches thousand times,
with no reason to reign as a queen without her lover by her side?
Nothing, nothing's to remedy her spirit that's broken thousand times,
for nothing, nothing would console the lonely queen in cruel abandonment,
but the last will to burn her body and soul consumed in madness of passion
on an ancient funeral pyre that engulfed every part of her whispering
to her departing spirit that love would come never more - Nevermore!
Postscript: Upon reading the story about Dido and Aeneas from the Aeneid, I was so inspired to write about her pathos of love. Hence is the creation of this poem. Poor Dido… How cruel Aeneas was.