Creation came and went
and Zeus sits back
with proud and pure intent,
his world before his eyes
enlivened by its innocence.
With only silence
for companion,
Prometheus draws breath
and wonders,
wearily and long
and warily devised a plan,
a strategy,
a song,
a course of action
pure and plain and bright with innovation.
Animated by his eyes,
the Titan crafts his clay
into the shape of Man
and day and night
and life and death
within this makeshift Man unfold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem