Prometheus

September 1, 2019

 

 

Why do I think it better to live than to die?

I live with a weight of shame and am weak,

and what hope have I of reaching to the sky,

who cannot bare the sunlight on his cheek?

 

I live in a hall of mirrors haunted by

the echoes of the gods whom I once touched - 

how far the Earth now seems from their revelry

which magic had passingly passed to the unjust;

 

but they too are forms of shadow passing by

upon the walls of a Saturnian tent,

cast by fires that glitter in the eye;

 

and who has kindled we did not invent,

nor can we pierce the righteous mystery

that raises up and brings down with sole intent.

 

 

 

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