Venus

The poet knew two faces of that queen 

Before whose altar he would pray each night 

One was a radiant goddess all in white 

A marble virgin, cold and smooth and clean; 

And high above her mortal pedestal 

There was a star, a blue celestial light 

Impossible to reach yet to his sight 

As pure and perfect as an angel’s soul. 

Centuries later, other men were here 

Who found beneath her tranquil blue veneer 

A poisonous hell-planet burning red. 

Their deaths revealed her after they were dead 

Cruel Venus, where no living thing can tread, 

Choking beneath her deadly atmosphere.

About the Author

Keira Charles is a senior Psychology major. She is graduating this semester.