No, Eurydice did not turn away.
She followed Orpheus, and the path
Was quivering with light, and flickering
With the motifs that crave to take the wing
When time looks back, as if it wants to stay.
But Cerberus, the stubborn Hades' guard,
Three ugly heads, each darker than the night,
He met that gaze and grinned, and trode behind.
The singer rose into the blazing day,
Where sun was painting the horizon blue.
(They say, that word was not invented yet,
And thus, all days were either white or grey.)
He glanced once more into the gaping cave,
To see her coming near, if all was true.
Like an obsidian trident could've fled,
The hound darted in between instead.
The song was over. Neither his cittern
Nor hazy form of Eurydice could
Have time to move, so quickly all was set
When Cerberus retreated, dragging back
The quivering, but now voiceless rag -
The payment was complete, he was content.
She cried, but who was there to take that call?
The wailing cry of madness sans relief,
Of happiness, pulled from behind the feet,
Of everything, that makes the soul bleed.
And till this day, we think that was a slave
Of Dionysus, scared by the deed,
And blame the wine and lust that take their toll
Of bards and poets from this dusty ball.
She lives till now, a Muse of suicide.
The finest poets would not see her glide,
The door appears, the dog with triple smile,
It's over quickly, barely in time
To throw the latest gaze and leave behind
A name, another stone to sing and shine
For nonchalant mankind.