Rage.
Sing not to me, oh Muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus. Sing not of the rage of the one who brought so much misfortune upon the Achaeans, hastening so many souls down to Hades, offering up so much prey to dogs and vultures. Sing not a word of how the dire wrath within Achilles grew. Sing not one note about the anger of the god-born killer, doomed to die.
Mention nothing of the murderous, drunken and poison-borne rages of Heracles. Bother me not with the pride-driven rage of Aristodemus. Forget the deadly warp-spasms of Cú Chulainn. Leave unsung paeans to any great berserkers of old.
The hottest burning rage in antiquity is but the trembling flame of a draught-plagued candle to me, oh Muse, for I have seen a web stretched across the width of the world with many untrue things woven into its face, and each and every one of them kindles within me a bonfire of wrath to rival Hephaestus’s forge.
RAEG.
4 Responses
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…that is truly fantastic.
L-O-L.
That is all.
OMG! Dont u h8 th@?
(sorry, could not resist. I have no idea if that is what you meant, but boy is it what came to mind!)
I remember seeing that rage online
It doesn’t seem to come out quite so often these days though. Just love these short fictions you’ve been writing! Can’t get enough!
Cheers!