Deep within the earth, as far from Mount Olympus as one can get lies the bowels of Hades. Go further, past the three hungering maws of Cerberus, past the spirits of all Pandora’s evils, and one comes to the infernal prison. An igneous realm shaded in sorrow where even the gods fear to tread: Tartarus, the black pit. It was here that the Titans and their servants were thrown after their defeat in the Titanomachy – the war between the gods of Olympus and the Titans for supremacy over creation. As Zeus and his cohort settled into their new found power, Tartarus became a dumping ground for the forgotten. A gulag for the political prisoners and grievous sinners that were to never see the light of day again…
Atlas we should name to thee,
Whose kingdom holds aloft the world.
Decor in marbled acanthus leaf,
Maiden thin and fluted form.
Tragic Atropos – such irony!
From barren womb no empire sprung,
Yet Trojan vengeance, imperial masked,
Of fire and fortunes, old poets sung.
Avarice scourged, scaled, slumbering greed,
Twice deceived the reapers glee.
Must guilty whispers haunt your dreams?
“Is this a dagger which I see before me?”
Immortal longing, grave’s grasp you spurned,
Chained in Stygian haunted hells.
Titanic struggle – a wish fulfilled!
Onward! Upward! Toil meaningless dwell.
Sweet hemlock’d lips part, mocking sing,
“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings!”
Absurd defiance: what else to call?
O’ Sisyphus,
Onward.
Upward.
Outlast us all!
Chris Black Writes 