Within my hand I held it strong Notwithstanding its weight prolonged The burden carried, the weight parried I wish I had but just some clarity
It was precious, precarious, and persuasive My yearning for it was but invasive Like the ring its presence grasped my mind Was it really the type to be kind
Many have sought and called it mine But only for a mere instance in time Joyous contempt filled the others Who were not blessed by Olympus’s mothers
Intangible yet it could still be held Was it the fire which had really meld The fortitude of its past successors The pain incurred by its predecessors
If it’s Ares who carries, it’s very scary Bide, the burden is deeply buried Through thoughtful triumph will prevail The victor who holds the true avail