Free Verse Poetry on The Interstitial
Echo of Prometheus
A mythos reborn
Fire, I hold,
a stolen glow in my grasp,
spark of rebellion,
flicker of ancient defiance,
in the hollows of my palms.
I am no mere mortal —
but a mythos reborn,
breathing the breath of gods.
The world is clay,
molded by hands unseen,
and I, the potter’s child,
fashion my fate,
each choice a shard
in the mosaic of existence.
I hear the whispers,
echoes of Prometheus,
a tale of flame and punishment,
of daring the heavens,
the agony of foresight.
My voice,
a song of lamentation,
weaves through the ether,
a silken thread in the tapestry,
binding the stars to my story.
The sky is a canvas,
painted with the hues of myths,
and I, a constellation,
burning bright in the narrative.
The gods watch,
eyes like cold stars,
and I stand defiant,
a beacon in the night,
a lighthouse of forbidden fire,
illuminating the darkness
of ignorance and shadow.
I bear the weight
of celestial wrath,
the scorch of divine retribution,
yet I am unyielding,
for the fire within
is a flame eternal.
In the end,
I am both creator and creation,
bound by the chains
of my own making,
yet free,
as the wind that fans the flames.
I am the echo of Prometheus,
forever etched in the annals of time,
a myth made flesh,
a story that refuses to die.
Ani Eldritch 2024
