NECTAR AND AMBROSIA

NECTAR AND AMBROSIA

Sometimes the gods are angry as sin,
Their lips in a pout on their silvery thrones,

Hurling their thunderbolts in a horrible wind
‘til one of them strikes you a final blow.

I am far from tasting nectar and ambrosia,
Far from the food of Athena and Zeus,
And sometimes I wake to a world that’s exploding,
My neck feels the pull of the hangman’s noose.

I go in pain where rigid muscles send me,
Encased like the tin man in a suit of rust,
Shuffling along like a shackled captive,
As I watch fellow travelers kicking up dust.

Sometimes the universe deals a bad hand,
And you wander through the wilderness a callous, broken man,
And you sing your songs to no one, devoid of any rhyme,
As your hourglass slowly empties in the deep abyss of time.

I am far from springing fully formed, like Athena from that fabled forehead.

I am Icarus fallen, wings charred and melted,
A destitute Sisyphus in the land of the dead.

Far from riding shotgun on that golden chariot,
Instead I mount a crippled horse that limps into the sunset.

Sometimes the gods are full of vinegar and piss,
Arching their backs at the slightest offense,
And making their displeasure known
By clinching their collective fist.

And I may not ever crack the code of what I’ve done to earn their scorn.
I’m trapped inside eternal dark,
Blinded to Aurora as she ushers forth the morn.

I am far, so far from feeding on nectar and ambrosia sweet,
And hurled from the Acropolis, my banishment complete.

The gods they roar in unison, their lips in a pout from their silvery thrones.
I’m lost adrift on their evil wind, feet bloodied on their jagged stones.

-BRUCE POTTS
COPYRIGHT 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED