Ismene Poem by Cherie Mort

I feel guilty in my grief. Other than my uncle Creon, I am the only one left alive, abandoned by the rest of my family as their souls flee to the underworld- even that of Polyneices. I hope he is still able to find rest. I will most likely not see him once I, too, reach the underworld.

My sister's blood is on my hands and my uncle's hands, but he has, too, the burden of his own child's blood. Even if I prayed to all twelve gods of Olympus, and all the minor deities, I fear that they will have turned deaf ears to me and my life shall end in eternal torment. True, I pleaded with Creon for Antigone's life, and true again he denied it, but I could've tried to save my sister and Haemon. If I had been able to sneak them out of the palace, I could've taken their place. Even if they were hunted down, I would rather have been dead by the time they were caught. It would've been better for me to have tried, at least, to save Antigone, rather than let her die the way she did. She died an honorable death, and I shall die a shameful one, a murderess with a regret as big as the sea.

All over Thebes, I can hear the mournful wails of the people, calling out for Polyneices, Antigone, Haemon, and my aunt Eurydice, who took her life upon learning of her son's death. I am wracked with guilt and grief; I can never forgive myself, and every time I turn around I fear I may see the Furies, those creatures that sunder flesh from bone. Heaven forgive me for what I have done!