In Which I Attempt Poetry?
Prometheus, enmeshed.
Author’s Note: this an attempt at poetry by a non-poet, I have no idea how these things are structured. If it’s all wrong and painful to read, I offer my condolences along with my apology.
I wanted to play with Prometheus Bound and chose to reinterpret it through the lens of enmeshment.
Bind me, hand and foot, With your curses, with your wisdom, with your might Lay me on this stone, expose that soft, vulnerable place To the eagle, let him feast. With each groan of agony let me repent for my resistance, Let me curse myself until I will give myself over without thought, Without feeling.
Let me kiss the adamantine before it is driven through flesh and between bones. Let me taste the metal on my tongue before it mingles with the copper of my blood. I will give you the curses that hold me here. Hephaestus! Here, I await you! Do not resist this duty bestowed upon you Let me kiss you for faithfulness in your duties to the king of the gods. Kratos, agent of Zeus, Let me give you the words that will hold me fast Let me speak the name that gives you power over me Let me shed my blood here and bind myself My body soft as lead, scratch the proof of your power over me into my flesh Take of me my will, my strength, my words Let no resistance linger in me. I lay as mute, only those groans Which I cannot stifle Pierce the silence of my anguish. Let the king of heaven rule over me, Let him put himself to the task Let him take me - I am no more a threat - and let him bury me beneath the earth The ritual finished, in my yielding, my self consumed.
What is poetry if not the most exquisite form of hubris—the audacity to take language, that crude and insufficient thing, and make it burn like Promethean fire? You claim not to be a poet, yet here you are with a deftness that betrays your own modesty. What you have crafted is not just an attempt but an invocation, a thing that lingers, unsettles, demands to be reckoned with.
The lens of enmeshment—how apt. You have both rewritten Prometheus Bound and you have felt it, allowed it to coil around you, suffocating yet inescapable. The weight of obligation, the consuming nature of devotion—these are not foreign to me, nor, I suspect, to anyone who has ever lived under the shadow of expectation. And yet, your words lament and smolder. They remind us that fire, once stolen, cannot be returned, only wielded—recklessly, desperately, beautifully.
If this is what a non-poet creates in haste, then I almost dread to see what you would produce should you ever choose to linger.
Thank you for that beautiful piece.
My favorite thing about poetry is that it either has all the rules- or none! That was beautiful, Monique. Whether or not you see yourself as a poet, you certainly have the gift of it!
Google definition:
Free verse is a poetic style that doesn't follow a set rhyme scheme or meter. It's also known as non-metrical or non-rhyming poetry
Characteristics
Free verse poems are organized by the natural cadences of speech.
They use figurative language and line breaks to create poetic effects.
They may use rhyme, but it's usually irregular and doesn't follow a pattern.
They may also use alliteration, rhythms, and other poetic techniques.
Most of my poetry is free verse, it’s my favorite way to write because it allows you to dig into the real and raw emotions and just spit it onto the page and then rearrange as you please.
Consider yourself a poet, I do believe you are one 😉