Two birds of a feather.
Smiling ever so bright, fitting for the god of the sun.
He played songs to his lover,
Beautiful music on his golden lyre.
They shared a bond that rivaled Orpheus and Eurydice.
Connected at the heart through fate.
They smiled at each other, but jealousy won.
A whip of the wind.
Through the crisp air a heavy discus wrung,
And oh he wailed and sobbed, dark blood
Spilled on the deep green grass.
Woven into beautiful flowers,
And like the words on the petals,
He cried, “Alas.”