October 4, 2001

  • The Nympholept


    He’d gone too far—he leapt, now leaps
    where others dare not even creep—
    into forests blackened by the night
    —just the thought drives most sane men to fright.
    And there the nymph in deep shadows waits—
    the one who will decide his fate.


    In the pale of the moonlight she begins the dance—
    a dainty step, then a bound, and prance.
    And as she whirls around this captive soul,
    he stares transfixed by her unearthly glow.
    Ten thousand times with as many men
    has she escorted them all to the very same end.


    What mortal can withstand this sight
    of a nymph blazing passionate in the night,
    seducing surreally the male heart
    as if  with magical potions and feminine arts?
    Yet offering nothing more than merely this:
    a captivating dance and undelivered  kiss.


    So through the night he’s knocked down, pulled in
    by this delicate creature’s most immaculate sin.
    He’s a nympholept and can no longer fight
    the urge—so he’ll return tomorrow night
    and for every night until the day he dies—
    when the nymph by first kiss  takes his dying *sigh*.


    So does the nympholept mortally serve the whim
    of the nymph forever hidden in the forest dim.

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