Revelare

Was supposed to be a poem I made for my fic, but since it'll take a while... planting this here.

Amon liked His father's eyes. They were kind. As kind as one could be in the precipice of divinity, that is. Oftentimes, He'd had the urge to gouge them out and grasped them like treasures. Perhaps then, He'll understand the precious humanity that the Ancient Sun God had always cherished—like a desperate, drowning man—suffocating in His own helplessness. Perhaps then, He'll understand why. Because for all that Amon is, He had always been a son first. And the selfishness that runs deep within His veins is the same golden blood that His father will bleed for humanity as a whole. For all that Amon is—inherently selfish—He could never understand the selfishness for the sake of other people's salvation. Had love ever been so ugly? The Ancient Sun God would say it is beautiful. And Amon would say it is a tragic, tragic tale of Icarus. Fly too close to the sun, and it will burn. Fly too close to the sea, and one will drown. What to choose? To scorch, or to suffocate? But then, as Amon looked into His father's eyes—He'd realized it doesn't matter at all. Spectators were always manipulative bastards. "You planned this, didn't you?" He'd ask, stepping back against His will. There's this certain feeling He'd felt. Something like betrayal. And one that borderline on hurt, and sorrow. "I'd never thought you'd use my own nature against me, father," He'd commented calmly, as though it doesn't feel… stinging. And His father's eyes would crinkle. "Oh, Amon," He'd say very fondly, "you've always been so selfish." Then He'd bow, as though His son is merely one of the oblivious pieces. "It would be remiss of me not to take advantage of that."