Prometheus

"the wound is the place where the Light enters you."
-Rumi


each day it takes another bite
and I willingly diminish
every day that I do not rise up
the dark bird wins

through slitted eyes I see it coming
those wings turning and churning
talons open then gripping then tearing 
beak bowed for another searing bite, just one, just enough
to leave shreds of memory behind

I greet it with arms upheld
stretched forth in chains
just a shade of myself pinned to the rock
where you betrayed me: this high, barren place
this magnificent view into madness

to think it was I who liberated the light
hijacked what should have been freely shared 
stole the precious gift in its singular 
brilliance and laid it at your feet 

to think it was I that gave the finger to the gods
I, this wreck, this heart-eaten bastard 
abandoned for my sins
who cannot now lift that same 
finger in self-defense or defiance

I track the sun across the sky 
and meditate on this: 
with each golden step it takes
my many wounds heal, going as dusk falls
and my eyes, always open, mark your fire in the night
till morning casts its shadows over my madness

it will be this way unless I choose otherwise
unless the bird and I come to some other arrangement.
but today I stand whole and healed and waiting
and now
comes a rising whisper from the east
a rustle of wingtips, the softest hint of pinions
borne on the dawn


KB © 3/7/2013