Illusions Of Prometheus Poem by Arveent Srirangan

Oh the fabled Prometheus of fame,
Bound to a boulder with links of despair,
The great beast with flight knows not his name,
Yet feasts on the titan with nary a care.

His only act considered a crime,
That cast him to the realms of darkness,
Where he suffers for eternal time,
His moans unheard, his mind so listless,
Thievery, they say, of such revolt,
From the Gods themselves, from Mount Olympus,
From the hearth of gold, from it did moult,
The torch that gave such life to us.

He laughs still, laughing up at them,
as the ones for whom he fought live and grow,
Yet his belief, from lies does it stem,
Did man grow, yes, but is he man still, no!

For like the fabled titan of lore,
Are men now bound to silicone stone,
And the binds they stem from within their core,
As they stand as one, alone,
Their souls to boulders, sewn.