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
When the fruit sits heavy on the vine,
and the creatures begin to take their share
there do you find me, selecting among the berries
those that will bring some small comfort
For when all reason fails and the deductions
Bring no illumination upon the deepening dark
I bear a torch to guide your next footsteps.
A Key to open the doors into the great night.
It has been a busy and frustrating day
For no sooner than I guided one soul
to the soft sands and warm fire
than another did summon my attentions
Back and forth I strode across the world
my labors unceasing as each wished to talk
upon the journey and relay such truths
as any who would hear will learn.
The deepest shadow passes before the heart
upon looking up from your labors to find
that the visage of your child is no longer
to be found within your sight
Every crack and fallen feature is to be searched
Every riverbank, every tree, for children do love
to play at games of hiding, and delight in the relief
that comes to the face of a parent upon their return.
The Prodigal God am I, my gifts for all that strike
their hammer upon the forge or their maul upon a spike.
Glorious toys are my passion, for they show the mind
at its fullest, the works a chorus to the direction of thought.
And to me, the thought is no more than a diagram
for the case to be put into place, gears to be arranged
and the edge honed to a sharpness unknown to all others.
Look on the beauty of my works, and give thanks
The crash of the wave shakes the very earth
and the sea rises to embrace the man as he falls
washing clean the crimes and the blood of friend and foe
Upon your great ships you prepare to embark
A sacrifice each will pay, a toll for crossing into my domain
for you often take from me what is mine, and it is just
that you repay me with offerings of that which you have borrowed.
A toll upon the road which embraces the world
Glory for the greatest, and the greatest act in my name.
What use a return to home if not a return with honor?
For the poor soldier who returns without tribute and scars
The city screams as to his cowardice, and rightly so.
A hero fights his all, and retreats when the blood has left
It is no shame to seek recovery for a wound, provided that wound
was fairly gained by the hand of an enemy.
It is shame to quail and flatter and seek to hide away.
Beyond the dark rivers, upon my shadowed shore,
do the men of Troy set their feet and whisper hushed fears
that they are soon to pass into my realm,
And upon stepping upon my threshold, they do meet my hound.
