Misbegotten Gift

It is not for his liver that Prometheus weeps

Nor his failure to gain his long earned surcease

But that in his kindness he wrought the great doom of man

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Who ponders not if he should but just if he can.

In the flames of ambition, in the fires of greed.

He takes what he wants but not what he needs.

And forges his weapons thus war never dies.

And what of kind Prometheus? He watches. He cries.

For it was not for bloodshed his gift was to be used.

Nor for the venting of man's ire.

But to warm them as they wait in dead of night

As they sleep beside the fire.