"On Maximus the Confessor"

What bitter grief and endless strife:
The burdens lovely Psyche bore
Not she of poets’ ancient lore
But she infusing human life.

Racked by temptings against the free
Though meant for freedom by her end,
Her foe did lure her eyes to tend
To fruit forbidden on the tree.

For foe was she, and foe she is,
The Venus fair, Ha! Fleshy maid;
She crafts with wicked mind to braid
Less good with fruit of fiery Dis.

At war were they the earthly foe
And gentle Psyche’s battered grace,
And sorrow marked the latter’s face
With tears of failed testing’s woe.

“Dear soul!” Said He from up above,
the Mover from his starry tent,
Afresher of a nature rent,
Conductor of a steadfast Love.

“Come to Me and clearly see
the fruit of contemplative sight.
Let virtue call you back from night,
‘neath clouded siren’s poesy!

My child scoff the Venus trap
And put all lusts beneath thy feet
And smother pride beneath the sheet
Of ‘scetic journey’s rugged map.

Thus Psyche seemed to leave the war,
Though bound was she by fleshly strife;
Conditions of a temp’ral life,
Yet newfound love now moved her core.

The soulish girl of starry fame
Then bathed in contemplative time
Recalling reason and her rhyme
And whom her being made His claim.

The author’s pen dares not write more,
But leaves the soulful girl to be
Among a holy poesy,
To not again face earthly chore.

Yet she must face the earthly brunt,
For that’s the seal the Mover set;
Dear Psyche must a peace beget,
And quell the intraperson front.

The lady returned a holy sight
forged by time in soulish skies
‘neath her Source’s careful eyes,
And Venus shrinks ‘neath soulful light.

A treaty then with terms of gold,
formed deep in contemplative fire,
bound Venus and her siren’s ire
by chains of rhyme and reason’s scold.

The journey into holiness
Did set the balance right at last;
An order that did rightly cast
Dear Psyche a Soulfull patroness.