#donkey_writes

Arrow-strait, arrow-swift, Taut as a bowstring. Goal: set, Path: clear, Obstacles must disappear. Don't wait, Aim true - This is where She makes the rules. Loud, loud - Make some noise: Maids in chorus, Baying hounds. Bright shafts of moonlight, Black stalking shades - Howling, oh, howling, Singing to Her: Scream at the top of your lungs What you wanted to whisper - This is no time to be tame. Unchained, unnamed - All the wild things are having a blast. Such a vast world free from man's yoke - Keep that shape-shifting cloak close around your shoulders. Cold mountain summits and hidden lakes, Where old spirits play - Hey, don't become prey: Are those teeth just for show, Are those legs naught but rust? Might as well be. But that's all we've got. Still, all we do is run. Surrender? Not yet. But It's too late to think mortal strength is enough. She - glowing silver in darkness, She - soothing shade at noon... The wounded seek healing, the strong-limbed Can't help but wound. Follow the greatest of she-bears, Find Her in caves and among long grass, In constellations, in road dust; Further than the moon, closer than your skin, Where no path can reach all tales begin. Feet and soul - all bare, Wrong place to be scared, Right place to bark, screech and growl. She - garbed in saffron and strength, and Mysteries - She still smiles. Wild Lady, Beastmistress, protect Your cubs!

Let's see you make a way where there is none - says Fate; Through ice, through storms, through iron, blood. It's not too late - Settle down. Be a good boy. Let them have what they want so much. They might trample you last, and you'll get gold shackles - It's a good trade, worthy of Hanno, so play nice. Nobody likes a warmonger - don't trust your eyes, Nor your ears. The wolves can be reasoned with. Just obey, And learn to call thralldom peace, like a well- fed slave. Losers get pity, at least. Fight - and you are the villain, Named traitor by traitors, cruel by those who grind Nations to dust. Is Qart Hadasht worth it? (Yes, it is.) The winds Change - any sailor will tell you. Those who resist Are salt, are ash, are crow dinner - they fall: tragic. Don't court Aiskhylos. You never liked him anyway. catch it - The current. Guess it can take you somewhere; who cares - Well, besides you. Is victory worth eve- rything? An eye, sleepless nights, scars... say, where are your brothers? It all ends in poison. But Cannae still thunders - Laughter in inevitability's blank face, Something greater even than Qart Hadasht (It hurts, That name.) You would still go to the ends of the earth For the idiots. Here is an ancient secret I guessed: You would still do it all over again.

Child, so full of yourself, drunk on your own rebellion - The caricature you call by His name is such a great target For all the bile, bitterness, blame - oh, you could have done better! No thrones, no scepters, no Gods, no masters - no justice Aside from that of humanity is allowed. After all, Who wouldn't want to spit in a tyrant's face? Rage against... yet, you never learned to rage FOR. Think you are strong? Turn around and meet the storm: He is still that youth who rebelled against Kronos, you know. It is never over - the Titanomakhy. They are here. In all the things that unravel the Kosmos. In Hydra's poison, In broken oaths, in Lykaon's feast, in the whispers of Ate, In silence, enforced with sticks and stones, in bowed heads, In words that taste like refined sugar, in heavy shackles Binding the innocent. Seeping through every fissure Beneath your feet - and high in the firmament. In the monsters That seem so misunderstood when you read the stories Written by those who knew they would never meet one. In Typhon's world-shaking, sky-twisting shrieks, That brought the Gods to Their knees. All, but one. He stood tall, He fought and He fell. Then, He rose again to bleed and prevail. After all, who else? The father of Gods and men Has no scapegoats. Only strong shoulders. His wounds will heal, And sinews can be replaced. Such an easy thing to forget: The Gods are not statues. Don't count His battles. Don't look for the scars. Just know: even Atlas does not envy this burden. Something goes wrong? Blame the boss. All goes well? Yes, we managed it all despite Him... That laughter - thunderous, rumbling - rises above all the venom. The balance of golden scales is in the hand that holds them; Force and Zeal, Power and Victory - set those birds free. Beneath His Aigis, all beings stand proud - and He smiles, For the quarrelsome ones can't tell their own reflection from His.

Ah, regal one, brilliant one on high -  Unchallenged, triumphant She shines. Might unflinching, incinerating touch Is too much for the base and the mortal. Keep thoughts correct, actions right - go, ignite A spark. Absence - cold, dark, lifeless Cave. Her presence - a white flood, don't you go blind: A halo of blades sharp as all the ways in which we fall short of the truth. That gaze -   An arrow. Should She avert it, How blessed would the blaze seem, the flame of Her rage! Perish all things - treasure deathless remains. Mirror named Mercy between the empress And the world - a fragile whisper Of reeds; just a seed reaching for majesty, Chasing Her - like a red chrysanthemum - Bright fan of petals unfurling, a heart's Stubborn pursuit of perfection: The path itself is the goal. Great the distance Between us and heaven - this harsh blessing Is not a chasm - just a clear and calm sky, Still waters where cicadas cry And fireflies dance just for Her - ah, but one smile, As She looks down on that greatest of rites. Can we trust this bridge - feather-light, rock-hard - Reaching across infinity? Don't shut your eyes. Find the middle ground, look up To a gate ever just out of our reach.

What weapon can break us?

in which Odysseus learns the war messed him up more than expected, Tydeides has too much patience and the phrase"Diomedean compulsion" is coined. Not a part of "Sing, Goddess", but hopefully still interesting.