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 again tomorrow night
and for every night until the day he dies—
when the nymph with a first kiss  takes his dying sigh.

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