A high garden wall you erect around a wedding
where the bride was dragged to the altar
By a man who bound her ambitions, and claimed
Consent through conquest. But that is as normal

To those who see only the assent and not the quivering voice
that delivers lies. The shivered glances that the conquered
chance, in anticipation of the next silencing blow
from loving warden's hand that he claims is a kiss.

How grand to run free of the tower where
I find myself oft imprisoned by locks and bars.
For many is the voice that I empower with memory
of events that unfurled, of struggles waged

Of man and woman who stand against odds gargantuan
and eke out a stalemate against the titans of shares.
Even that loss is too much for the proud new Gods,
Who proclaim themselves to be no more than man.

An Audience of Shades and Gods? How Droll.
For when I spoke in life I spoke to those
who were not to be seen and not to be talked of.
The Nothos were my friends, my partners and my lovers.

But recalled from final home, I find a throng
much greater than I could have imagined.
What words of mine have you read? What books
that I scribbled between falling and sleep?

I sing a hymn to gods! I sing a hymn
to those that seek to praise. To those that bend
to those that stoop! To those whose life is work
upon the land. Let none set us at odds.

For it is in the call and ans'ring voice
that sounds about the ear, and lifts the hand
for one more step along the road we pull.
(Stage Direction. This line is deliberately left empty to give the performer time to ready the chorus)

One!

Before the great heroes have their say and
speak of lofty deeds and great battles won
I must inquire to the audience
on a matter most dire and portentous.

Who farted? For I can see islands within
the throng, where some have edged away from stench
and yet have said nothing for the time immemorial.
Even here upon the stage I can smell

No, no. Don't bother with me. I'm just old.
I'm tired, and I have a bit more work undone.
So I'll set the fire, just in the chance
That some latecomer may still wish warmth.

A meal still uneaten, it will keep fresh
if put aside for when the pangs of life
grow too harsh and there is no bread baked
for the child to skip about in eager hand.

Again I fall, and laugh as I do
For there is joy in rising once more anew
and looking upon the world fresh and light.
For my drudgery and service are but a small part

Of my life. The joy in the face as I return
to two homes in sequence, neither the greater.
For I could never live soley in Olympus
the air and light weighs heavy upon a soul

It is rare indeed that a man is named for his mother.
For in all ways save birth, my mother did
cause me to flourish. Each hurdle a step
higher than the last, but all within the reach of my stride.

A mortal life is short indeed. A labor thought
long and arduous. But as soon as it is done
another labor rose to challenge me.
For it is in my greatest triumphs

Cruel Men of Greece, how you preen, how you prance.
At the city that once paid me honors, you scream your triumph
and Laugh over the scattered coals. Unthinking of me
and those that have run to my greatest temple.

You dare not follow them there, for outside
your walls and fires, beyond the reach of your spears
do my arrows wait in contemplation.
You think to please me by giving up that which you value.

A snake divided into many pieces
Brings forth the gift of my prophecy
For while no oracle sits to deliver
my sight, that vision shall be made clear

I have done many things over this war
and as I look upon the victims of
my sting, contagious and ever biting
I see in them the anguish of my own