The Blood of Prometheus

By evancromwell

Sun, 06 May 2018
  • 647 reads
2 comments
 

The ancient Greeks spoke of muses

But I shall speak of fire

It burns in my mind and in my veins

The pen spews fire now

But fire is a fickle thing

It destroys all that I love

And creates all that I will one day love

I am not the only vessel

But the fire is mine for sure

Now only time will tell

Is it a sentence or a cure?

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Comments

Submitted by evancromwell on

The ending is a little cheesy on this one, but to be fair, it was hastily scrawled on the back of an order sheet at work during our dinner rush

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

The haste may have created that sense of passion.