Prometheus


Oh life -- forbidden flower
by destiny compelled
to grace our mortal bower
so near yet still withheld.


Too long thy dancing feet have fled,
oh all elusive bliss;
ensnared -- when man thy hand has wed
and tasted of thy kiss.


By arts profane and sacred
your secrets are revealed.
Your love shall meet our hatred
and we, in turn, be healed.


Now captured in the moment,
enshrined in walls of time,
your light, our hallowed sacrament,
albeit Adam's crime.


Once flowing through our fingers,
now held within our hand,
your setting ray but lingers
above our radiant land


and tarries o'er Olympus,
whose crimson shoulders rise
drenched by years of living death
where Prometheus dies.