Sunday, November 28, 2010

To Hephaestos

It burns, the heat

It gives you pain, the hammer

It folds like a serpent, the metal

And in your hands it is made art


It is a burden, this talent

It is a joy, this gift

It is a curse, this body

And in your chest your heart is heavy


They rejected you, who should have loved you

They belittled you, who should have cared

They threw you down from heaven, who should have protected you

And by the kindness of another you were saved


They did not love you, your parents

They did not appreciate you, your brethren

They did not know they needed you, all who lived

And with your skill you convinced them


It is our pleasure, to receive you

It is our gift, to know you

It is our shame, should we reject you

And by your divine presence are we forever humbled


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