Photo by Falko Burghausen on Unsplash
I wonder—as I graze my aching hands against the sky—
if my cousin’s fearsome anger still condemns me from on high.
And my other cousin, Helios, the sun that rides behind
austere Apollon’s chariot—do I ever cross his mind?
Or am I all forgotten here, by titans and the gods;
am I to always heft alone Ouranos, blue and broad?
My one and cold companion, out here, beyond the land,
out here beyond the joys of life and every gentle hand:
Ouranos—Sky who soars above with hemlock on his tongue,
still bitterly condemning wrongs yet old when time was young—
is now the only voice I hear as muscles burn and tremble,
never to lay down their load and ever to be humbled
by mighty Zeus’s will—to think the name is to be split
by thoughts of cruelest banishment from his sadistic wit.
I try to muster up some rage at Kronos’ proudest son
but anger, these days, fades as sure as light ’neath Nyx’s dun;
It’s all that I can do to keep despair from taking all—
It’s all my effort just to feel mightier than small.
It’s all my life just kneeling here, the sky my meager crown,
eternity around my shoulders, cloaked in heavy clouds.