Here in my head
I see none withstand
all of my musings.
Comparing it with a belief
of the past concieved,
do all my longings forward
into Elysian Fields.
Still I traverse
everyday in my solemn
way down to the mind,
where the bellows of
Tartarus in conception
with all the people that
still live here in the hallowed halls
that echoes the world in Hades’ grip.
I held my own Excalibur,
Someone tossed it while
I looked for my own Mjolnir,
Then I held that Draupnir,
while my arms were my own Gladius.
I can be my own weapon,
only to know that this tongue is the sharpest,
and my attitude is the defensive shield i can wield.
I was not happy,
i had no friends
only godly noise in my head.
Telling and promising me a land,
not even knowing what life of a king,
where that bastard of a father I didn’t even grew up with.
With your courage and false confidence
that was promoted.
At least I’m happy to make your
adversary to make them granite
then after which
you can only admire in graven image.
When that light
enters the mind
of each night,
Morpheus gives way
and Nyx stays away,
Ra will soon arise
while the phoenix
basks in eternal delight.
. . . but to Prometheus nothing was impossible.
A book of myths by Jeanie Lang.
For an impossible feat,
we are given light of the matter,
and thus from dark cold streams,
radiance of the love of light embers in us,
coz such feat of fire was stolen and given
in turn he knew the consequences,
only to know he gave us our mind,
to be used for our own betterment,
and not the bitter sorrow of every winter to follow.
why of all things,
must you crave and lust Helen.
You of all creation undo
Us in your lustfull wake,
behave badly and make this,
because you wanted Helen’s cunt.
Lure me away,
to a bright summer’s day,
and sail to trojan shores
to hear all those
To me brethren to me,
protect me from all heathen,
For I stole their golden apple.