PROMETHEUS:

My hands are gripped
by the iron chains
attached with these nails
on this primitive boulder.

My ribs are broken
so is the mind
all the pain from inside
lies here naked, colder.

An old cannibal eagle
sits atop my shoulder
with the consent of Zeus
consuming my heart
as I lay there helpless.
A prisoner.

I first mustered the valor
Yes it was me
to go snatch fire from Zeus
like no ordinary soldier.

Before this,
As a sheep in a blind valley
this earth withstood
every night like a nightmare.

I first mustered the valor,
to go snatch fire like no ordinary soldier.

ZEUS:

Never put courage,
in the map I made
for mankinds existence.
I put only destiny,
put modesty, put cowardice
put some fear, and terror around this.
Stark darkness, always his.
For this man,
has challenged the dark
showed disregard for the crown
as if the crown is his.
He got what he deserved
without any impunity.
Light was confined,
so much as freedom accursed,
courage to the men, never even occurred.
The hope he’s stole from the altar
may spread courage within mortals like wildfire.
What if?
They raise their heads.
Their heads will rise.

MORTALS:

We aren’t naive.
Why will we raise our heads?
Even if we were keen
we wont set up our own deathbeds.
In its absence
we never wanted it,
now that it’s here
we wont even refuse it.
You see fire amongst us
never even created the split.
Now that we surround him
we aren’t his entourage.
We convene around Prometheus
but we aren’t his followers.
A herd, thirsty for a spectacle
we’re just here to see the eagle,
as it feasts upon his heart.
Everyday the same routine
patching up overnight on the scene
looks like an art.
This is a theater of miracles
and we await dearly for the final act.
Anyone could have been a Prometheus, in fact.
We had the ever prevalent, yearning for light
we are afraid though
afraid to put up a fight.

FIRE:

They were selfish,
luxurious and cowards
whose palaces I used to light up.
Berated and unappreciated
Prometheus found me
I was liberated.
He said,
you are the light
you are the life.
Touched me to his forehead
touted like a firekeeper
threw me to the cowards
who play gods, only cheaper.
I am but only an instrument,
forging gold,
fanning flames to their gas fire,
preventing the heat in their halls to expire.
At a moments notice
I’ll be used to burn house of their neighbors.
Why touch me to your forehead?
Why liberate me?
Only to throw me back to the cowards
who play gods, only cheaper.

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