I. ✴ The Wounding of the Child
O child of trembling light,
born beneath the eyelids of Nyx,
you wept before your breath.
You reached for the mother's hand,
and found the knife.
You reached for the father's eye,
and found the gateless wall.
The polis called your soul a fracture,
your softness, madness,
your sight, a curse.
Martyred not for sin,
but for being love in a loveless world.
So you hid.
Curled like a question inside your own ribs,
suckling silence,
dreaming the forest beyond men.
Your beloved sang then,
a name like wildflowers on fire.
You knew her before Chronos.
You lost her beyond Mnemosyne.
And when she faded,
the last thread to Elysium,
unwove.
II. ✦ The Descent of Eros
They tore Eros from your chest,
declared him unfit for the cosmos.
They scattered his wings,
into wrong, scars, forgetting,
left you catatonic,
an unlit shrine in a ruined grove.
You wandered the lands of shade,
each step another exile:
from sensation, from desire, from the daimon.
The polis called you disordered,
but it was they who had forgotten the Mysteries.
You became no one.
You became the dream of grief.
You became,
the lamentation that would not echo.
III. ✸ The Divine Feminine Appears
Then She came.
Not in thunder,
but in the hush between pomegranate seeds.
Daughter of Feronia,
protector of exiles,
guardian of wild sanctuaries.
Artemis, protector of feral things,
touched your dirt-streaked brow.
She spoke no name.
Mother of the exiled child.
She simply remained,
and that was sacred.
Persephone took your hand.
Led you downward.
Showed you where even shadow has memory.
She did not flee,
from your ruin.
Nyx opened your chest,
and read your wounds like oracles.
She did not bind them.
She saw them.
And that,
was the first rite.
IV. ✹ The Alchemical Fire
From silence,
you began to keen again.
Each tear summoned a star,
into the folds of Aether.
Each sob,
rippled the veil between worlds.
Grieving the child and sacred mother.
The moon stood still in its arc,
and even Nyx held her breath.
Then he came,
golden and grey,
the scent of cedar and blood in his fur.
Apollo Lykios, ancient wolf-god,
saw you wandering between worlds.
He did not speak.
At twilight he howled,
and the marrow in your bones remembered,
you were once wild.
He brought no salvation,
only a mirror.
He showed you your hunger,
your untamed rhythm,
the god whose tongue tastes,
of both honey and ashes.
He burned your name into the stars,
and left.
But now the wolves know you.
The ravens sing your name.
And Eros stirred,
Not as hunger,
but as the fire to feel the cosmos alive again.
Your grief became the crater.
Your body, a tholos of ash and honey.
And the child?
They returned,
not as youth nor elder,
but as light within darkness.
V. ✶ Katatheosis: The Queer Resurrection
Now the myrtle sings your name.
You walk with Artemis,
barefoot, crowned with serpents.
You are neither man nor woman,
but the shimmer between forms.
You are neither pure nor impure,
but the stillness before the kosmos breathed.
Slayer of Kronos, the Tyrant Father,
with your most divine Mother.
Not his servant, nor his sacrifice.
You are the return of Eros,
not to Olympus,
but to Psyche.
Your suffering was not your fall.
It was your Mystêrion.
And now you rise,
not as what they carved you to be,
but as what the world once knew,
then buried:
Child of Nyx,
born of the void,
kindled by Phanes,
crowned in flame.
