Prometheus
by P.H. Wise

‘Forethought’ is my name.
Once, I was advisor to the gods.
By my arts, Zeus gave birth to Wisdom, his daughter
I gave him all, keeping none for myself
My Fire brought warmth to men, but not comfort.
Eagle-bound, I suffered on a harsh, hot rock for untold centuries

Now I am here, and suffering has forged in me a peculiar kind of clarity
My wisdom is a thing come through millennia of ripping talons and torn livers

Quietness comes from the broken bond, from knowledge gained,
The opened eye, and the glory of the Fire.
It shines ever before me, my gift to men.
Their eyes are opened; they are as gods, and fell as gods,
Burned by the same Fire that empowered them
And as gods they mete out death upon an unfallen cosmos
My prison is broken; the Fire burns in their hearts and in their flesh
They are free, ‘and what else is not to be overcome?’

Soon I will be... but no
Ethon descends: even the god-man cannot slay the price of Hubris
And a voice calls out in the wilderness:
Creator, thief, bringer of the good servant, the bad master,
Stolen from the hearth of your betters,
Cursing humanity by your lack of foresight but warming them nonetheless
Answer, eagle-food, before you die:

What

Is

The

Fire?