A Poet's Voice

I scan the words,
their pattern on the page
as clear as lines
that mark
the way
home.

What difference would it make,
to hear the poet's voice
to know with any
certainty,
that here,
in this space,
the poet lost her place,
her voice trembled, and I can
no longer trust her truth,
hard won it may be;
she is as human
as me.

I'm remembering 
a certain temple at Delphi.
On the hill above, the men
raced horses to their destinies;
here on a small ledge below,
in the cracks of the earth,
women breathed in mysteries,
danced by Athena's sacred spring,
and spoke in tongues,
poets all.

Athena's Temple at Delphi, Greece (Camp 2004)

Today's prompt from Octpowrimo.com challenges us to record an audio version of our favorite poem written this month. I have no time this  morning (commitments begin early today), but somehow this meandering poem took me back to a mystical day spent at Delphi. Athena's temple was nearly hidden in the ledge below the main temple of Apollo. 

We could walk right up to the holy stone near the cave where the women meditated and foretold their prophesies. Such holy stones, were found throughout Greece, but here at Delphi, this stone is the symbol of the sacred Oracle.

Holy Stone at Delphi (Camp 2004)