I wished to be an honest man

with a proud shining armor

made righteousness and light!

but Alas!

I relented, trembled and feared the world and myself!

And I hated them,

For that, they stripped me of my golden panoply!

Naked, freezing with hate and spite in my blue eyes,

I look at them and wish no more, to be an honest man!

And so the beaten and enslaved men came to my prison,

And wanted to see an old chained Greek God,

With enchanted shackles, they bonded me to the ground!

And liked, to cut my skin,

To use, Ichor, my golden blood, to wish for quick victories,

Over their petty squabbles, they called wars!

I didn’t need to eat or drink,

For what are water and figs in the face of ambrosia?

And so the seasons came and went!

Humans born, humans die!

Kings rule, conquer and die,

And the young girls,

Who tend to my prison.

They cut me,

to use my golden blood.

And I began to speak, to whisper!

To one of them,

>>I can give you beauty, wealth and everything you desire!<<

but I could see, that she was not a stupid one!

With a grave face she said:

>>You’re golden blood is useless!

It can’t even save my ill mother<<

but my bonds didn’t let me,

face her,

but I spoke nonetheless!

>>I am not a god of nourishment and peace!

I am old,

Very old

and lay fire to cities,

and killed even little children in their sleep!

I cannot save your mother!

Although the other gods know me!

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And if I asked them,

To save your mother!

They could!!

And if you twist and weaken my shackles,

Only a little,

I could arrange,

For that,

What you

Wish,

the most!!<<

She, with a face,

which was filled out

by her desperate mercy,

seeking green and intelligent eyes,

looked at my broken and beaten body!

And I made myself looking more miserable,

than I ever was! Beaten, with the all the fresh cuts visible,

She said: >>You will kill me, my sisters of your temple, you will lay waste,

to my city! You said it yourself; you wouldn’t even hesitate, to kill my little brother!<<

I sighed: >>Yes, I would, but imagine the gratitude I will feel for you and your kin!

If you take your brother and your mother into the caves, outside the city,

I will thank you with gifts, you cannot imagine!<<

She, flared up like a fury, almost fletching her white teeth took, her knife,

By which she lacerated me so often,

but I faked, false tears

and she seeing a god cry,

felt pity for me!

In the next night,

She came

And asked for nothing!

And loosened my bonds!

Now, free, the built up hatred,

Eclipsed her wings in my heart,

And I pressed her to leave,

Or would have ripped her throat,

Out of her fletching body!!

She could see my eyes, made of silver,

Burn with holy fire!!

And she ran away!

I didn’t sought for my chain mail,

or my weapons!!

I took her little, ritual knife

and started to slash her friends –

The other temple priestesses!

I was slow and methodical!

I cut deep into their white bellies!

And severed their Achilles heels.

For that they could crawl like bugs

on the steps of my prison,

They called temple!

It would take several excruciating hours,

Before my brother,

The winged death,

Would take them,

and ease the burning pain,

by washing their souls,

out of their pathetic bodies!