once more the candle flickers
and dies
no gust of wind to fan the flame
and I stand riveted
Prometheus to a rock
the flesh slowly peeled
by carnivorous talons
hungry for new-blood's breath
chains without keys


in defiant rage
scorching the night
to awaken the gods
hammering the gates with fired-lead fury
but there is no response
from Olympian heights
as the final dying echo

falls like a raindrop
in a puddle of silence.

(Previously published in Some Words: A Place For Poetry, Nov - Dec 1999)

by Laurence Overmire

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