sunbeams on the morning bright
removes most traces of despair
and carries me to the ancient rite
when myths of furies filled the air
machines evicted and in their place
the wind filled sails o’er the wine dark sea
gods at play with the human race
in plots and schemes vindictively
in every crack of earth, a spirit lives
gods and men in shared desire
both guilty of a deceit that gives
clouded reason for Olympiad fires
the thunderbolts fly with little debate
impulsive gods, petty, spoiled, absurd
but regal in their conniving state
and held to oath and word
they take every opportunity
when not aligning sun and star
to shift their shape, then sexually
pounce, with a quick au revoir
jealousy, rage, revenge at any chance
stirs the north wind on the sea foam
forcing héros to tragic circumstance
with very long rides home
from a thousand ships to none at all
these powerful lords seem obsessed
to place siren obstacles and sudden squall
leaving the righteous without rest
no need for blinded giants hurling stone
let us be who are but men
so that amid destinies we are free to set our own
the earth to wine and fat, then back again