Member-only story
poetry
Has it not yet been promised
Scattered from the ashes of Prometheus
Played upon, a single note formed
A slight inkling of sound
Not found, nor bound, but prophesized
Not timely but frowned
Down played, frayed
Delayed a thousand decades
Decayed
Decadent, unwarranted in its fall
To be caught once more
And put forward
The score
Hark, not all is won
Less still is done
Where were you when I cried out that sum
Vestiges of all broken promises be
Left to fester on the shoulders of giants
Great and small shining tall
Am I but Betelgeuse disguised as a hunter
Upon Orion’s belt dimmed to display that hunter’s gall
No longer brave enough to reap the speculation of the ages
Do not perceive like the crow at its own menu
Befallen before dawn’s light
Egregious only now in lowly plight, upon its platter
Not living nor dead
Free from its aimless vantage to be misled
And cursed before every morning
Betwixt light and Sun falling
Graced only by the giver of days
And only in chaos and dismay
