The Muses are the inspirational goddesses of literature, science, and the arts in Greek mythology. They were considered the source of the knowledge embodied in the poetry, lyric songs, and myths that were related orally for centuries in these ancient cultures. They were later adopted by the Romans as a part of their pantheon. In current English usage, “muse” can refer in general to a person who inspires an artist, writer, or musician.”

People speak of Angels
As though they’re beautiful things
Made of love and light and innocence
With cherubic faces and gentle smiles
With soft down feathers of white for wings
And flowing robes of reds and gold
Like princes of beauty all noble and replete
Considerate and caring and all too forgiving of what they protect
That speak of the Father and adore His divine will
With biblical verse and scripture to come.

Angels are not kind or innocent
Cruelty and war is their domain in ways humans cannot comprehend
To be an Angel is to be wonderful and terrible and judgement
It is the blade of fire that burns forests and boils seas
The sound of choirs and horns that deafen men and leave them awed
The rage and anger and malice and beauty of creation and destruction
With six wings that are beyond all understanding
And faces that do not have a drop of humanity in them
No gentle smiles but toothy grins
And only declarations of purpose and faith and destiny.

People speak of Angels
All they know are lies.

—  Speak of Angels | K.C


Born to the personification of night, to a goddess who even Zeus feared, Nyx’s children hold the same possibility of power. With clothes of silken darkness, they glide by with the whisper of a sigh; ghosts in the night, engulfed in the realm of their mother. Creatures of the night call to them, and their fingers trail ribbons of black, influencing others from the shadows.

he was born of salt and sweat,
muscles burning and teeth bared;
a stain that would never come out.

he was made to rip empires apart
and the heavens were envious
because he burned so brightly.

so when they claimed him in kind
and took what was rightfully theirs
no one was surprised
especially not you.

he died in a world of ash and fear,
blood and a foul taste on his tongue;
completely and utterly alone.
—  you still can’t name a hero who was happy // m.c.

Adonis, don’t go into the woods today
                    (but you’ll go anyway)

Aphrodite, don’t fall in love with your brother
                     (your life is not worth your pride)

Hera, don’t deny Leto her babes
                     (they’ll be stronger than you one day)

Demeter, don’t let Persephone be your undoing
                     (she’s a queen at heart)

Hades, don’t let your heart rule your head
                    (Minthe is not yours to take)

Persephone, don’t let desire show your hand
                    (there’s a kingdom waiting for you to rule)

Europa, don’t be fooled by the white bull
                     (he’ll take you away and have you bear sons)

Arcisius, don’t send your daughter away
                    (your grandson will have your life either way)

Prometheus, don’t give your children fire
                    (it will be your undoing when wrapped in chain)

Epimetheus, don’t fall for the beauty of Pandora
                    (she has been forged from rage to punish you)

Pandora, don’t open the jar, put it away
                    (but you can’t for you were made for it)

Heracles, don’t be so quick to anger
                    (though your greatest deeds will be borne of it)

Zeus, don’t be so rash with your acts
                    (you make enemies of your own kin)

Gods and heroes, don’t be fools
                    (hubris is the nectar of experience)

—  don’t be fools | k.c.


O Inanna! It is you who teaches us to die, be reborn and rise again

Athena picks fights on the playground from age seven
Soon all the boys worship her
At thirteen she learns to fire a gun
And calls her sister’s longbow “ineffective”
She destroys the competition in debates and wrestling matches alike,
Learns to march but finds she’d much rather command,
Climbs to the top of the military tree,
Stepping on anyone who gets in her way

Artemis is all scraped knees and bruised shins
A fierce little girl who does what she wants
A teenager with grass stains on her dresses and rage in her heart
She dislikes the company of men
At age fifteen she kisses a girl and decides she likes it almost as much as shooting
At eighteen she knows that one girl will never be enough

Aphrodite has always been pretty and she knows it
She grew up fast but chocolate and flowers and favours were her rewards
She keeps a notebook by her bed
Hot pink like the marks she leaves on boys necks
Filled with phone numbers, her own personal directory
They’d do anything for her and that’s just how she likes it

—  Modern Goddesses


Hyacinthus was a handsome Spartan prince that was fiercely loved by the gods Apollo and Zephyros. Zephyros, known as The West Wind, grew jealous of his rival Apollo and one day as the pair were playing discus, blew the discus off course causing it to strike Hyacinthus in the head and kill him. The grieving Apollon then transformed the dying youth into a larkspur flower (hyakinthos in Greek) which he inscribed with the wail of mourning “AI, AI.

Inuit Mythology →Sedna, Goddess of the Sea

known as the Mother/Mistress of the Sea, Sedna’s tale is one of creation describing how she came to rule of Adlivun (Inuit Underworld). In one version she is the child of Anguta (the creator-god) with a hunger that causes her to attack her parents, resulting in her father taking her to sea and casting her overboard. She clings to the side but Anguta cuts off her fingers and she sinks to the underworld, ruler of the monster of the deep. Her severed fingers become seals, walruses and whales.

They used to call him leader,
always asking for the same: 
courage, that elixir
men are slaves to,
that makes roaring lions
of their veins.
His was always the throat
that shook the fighting range.

They used to call him trouble,
a foot in each camp’s tents —
indiscriminate the blade-falls,
as long as the air was full of them.
He’ll admit, he loves the steel
the cool rushed relief of it.

Father once called him hateful,
sat above Troy chaotic.
Cold electric might, he could not fathom
the strength it takes to hold
men’s red-hot fear in open palms.
And he is forever boiling in it, 
the searing battledust,
Sparta’s rage and Baghdad’s grief,
he is filthy with it
no matter the river he chooses,
no matter the ichor beneath.

He still hopes it’s not too late
for amnesty.
Gold is worthless
under the crusted blood of centuries.

—  sinner & sanction both (ares) - modern myth series (p.f.)

You did not choose to be born.
You were shaped by the gods
from emptiness, for their
convenience. They gave you life
but no purpose and so came
a maddening itch.

Is it any wonder that
you finally clawed greed
and war and cruelty
out from under your skin?
That you chose to soak
your hands in pestilence
and plague and shadows?

Your blood is buzzing
with these things
that they call terrible.
With these things
that make you

But once the mire has dried
under your fingernails,
all that is left is
a hollow girl,
an empty box,
and nothing else.
Not even hope.

—  Madeleine C, Pandora Absolved