The Horns of the Minotaur
Wandering along the darkened halls,
I am sustained by the presence of the
Golden goddess. Her scent, her voice
Playing my heartstrings like an Orphic lyre.
I am floating along when the ominous
Aromas of bestial rage waft over my path.
Suddenly I am confronted by the beast himself,
The embodiment of my deepest, darkest,
Most primal fears.
He rises before me, giant, stinking, ferocious.
His horns dripping the blood of others,
Thirsting for my own. He looks me
Directly in the eye, taunting me before
Dismembering me. Fiercely, as if
Responding to my own hopelessness,
He lowers his mighty head and charges.
As he approaches, I see in his eyes
That there is no escape for me.
The closer he gets, the more I feel
Overpowered by his dank stench.
Then he is upon me.
His horn slides easily into my body like
A man into a woman; my own sweet blood
Lubricating his way. The tip of the horn
Exits my back and buries itself
Into the wall behind. The beast attempts
To raise its head so as to throw me free
To be gored again
But its horn is captive to the same wall
That prevents my own escape. The bull snorts
And I am confronted by the massive creature’s
Ferocious mask just inches from my face.
With nowhere to go, both of us locked in
This fatal embrace, I look deeply into his eyes
And I am shocked by my own reflection there.
He looks so profoundly sad, grief stricken in his rage.
My fear and his anger flow from the same dark,
Deeply defended place. Eye to eye, we see
Ourselves in the other and the recognition
Both rocks and strangely comforts us.
I feel my life’s blood slipping away,
Running freely from the wound in my belly.
As I weaken, visions of my golden goddess
Begin to dance once again before my eyes,
Misting over with death’s luminous shroud.
The awareness dawns on me that the bull
And the horn are no longer before me.
Instead I am lying in a radiant forest glade,
my head cradled in my tender angel’s lap.
As she strokes my head, her honeyed voice
Sings to me of redemption and rebirth.
I am struck that even in my darkest hour,
She has returned to me as if
She had only been waiting for me to surrender
My life, my pride, my honor, my hope,
My desire, my rage. In those final moments as
My life slips away, so too does my fear.
It is replaced by soul soothing notes
Flying on golden wings from my dear
Goddess’ harp. And I am born again
Though in a new skin not yet fully fitted
But joyously flexible.
As she presses her sweet lips to mine,
The milk of her kindness flows into me
And fills the emptiness left by
The temporary departure
Of the fearsome Minotaur,
My own fearful, angry,
Grief stricken self.
Scott DuRoff 2011
Wandering along the darkened halls,
I am sustained by the presence of the
Golden goddess. Her scent, her voice
Playing my heartstrings like an Orphic lyre.
I am floating along when the ominous
Aromas of bestial rage waft over my path.
Suddenly I am confronted by the beast himself,
The embodiment of my deepest, darkest,
Most primal fears.
He rises before me, giant, stinking, ferocious.
His horns dripping the blood of others,
Thirsting for my own. He looks me
Directly in the eye, taunting me before
Dismembering me. Fiercely, as if
Responding to my own hopelessness,
He lowers his mighty head and charges.
As he approaches, I see in his eyes
That there is no escape for me.
The closer he gets, the more I feel
Overpowered by his dank stench.
Then he is upon me.
His horn slides easily into my body like
A man into a woman; my own sweet blood
Lubricating his way. The tip of the horn
Exits my back and buries itself
Into the wall behind. The beast attempts
To raise its head so as to throw me free
To be gored again
But its horn is captive to the same wall
That prevents my own escape. The bull snorts
And I am confronted by the massive creature’s
Ferocious mask just inches from my face.
With nowhere to go, both of us locked in
This fatal embrace, I look deeply into his eyes
And I am shocked by my own reflection there.
He looks so profoundly sad, grief stricken in his rage.
My fear and his anger flow from the same dark,
Deeply defended place. Eye to eye, we see
Ourselves in the other and the recognition
Both rocks and strangely comforts us.
I feel my life’s blood slipping away,
Running freely from the wound in my belly.
As I weaken, visions of my golden goddess
Begin to dance once again before my eyes,
Misting over with death’s luminous shroud.
The awareness dawns on me that the bull
And the horn are no longer before me.
Instead I am lying in a radiant forest glade,
my head cradled in my tender angel’s lap.
As she strokes my head, her honeyed voice
Sings to me of redemption and rebirth.
I am struck that even in my darkest hour,
She has returned to me as if
She had only been waiting for me to surrender
My life, my pride, my honor, my hope,
My desire, my rage. In those final moments as
My life slips away, so too does my fear.
It is replaced by soul soothing notes
Flying on golden wings from my dear
Goddess’ harp. And I am born again
Though in a new skin not yet fully fitted
But joyously flexible.
As she presses her sweet lips to mine,
The milk of her kindness flows into me
And fills the emptiness left by
The temporary departure
Of the fearsome Minotaur,
My own fearful, angry,
Grief stricken self.
Scott DuRoff 2011
