tragedy LAY in that kitchen

back

God, I have only a few questions.
Please humor me before I’m sent permanently,
to the home of all artists and poets.

Why would
Orpheus look back when told not to?
Why would
Sisyphus put his palms on the boulder again?
Why would
Prometheus still scream in fear when the bird approaches?

and why did Hector's son
cringe away from
his father's kiss in fear?

(Speak truthfully,
was it love splattered on your helmet?
Amidst the desire of other men.
In the end, a newborn sees
in the most intimate way possible.)

That is the nature of love,
I assume. Do you have
anything to add, God?
(eventually, this leads to
the destruction of all species.)

In a certain way,
Orpheus loved the climb,
Sisyphus loved the boulder,
Prometheus loved the eagle,

And yet Hector still begged God
(you know this, of course)
to make his son like him;
bloodstained and covered in gore,
convinced his mother would have
loved for her boy to become
a cruel man too.

…Convinced enough
to throw his heart on the side
in prayer?

I suppose, from this perspective, you loved me too.
But not really.