The Golden Touch (Midas)
A prayer is whispered to the shifting air,
That all he brushes turn to heavy gold;
The king ignores the weight of silent prayer,
With visions of a wealth that’s yet untold.
The rose is stiffened by a yellow crust,
The bread is iron to his hungry bite;
His kingdom’s glory turns to bitter dust,
Within the shimmer of the morning light.
But when he seeks to hold his daughter’s hand,
The warmth of life is traded for a sheen;
A statue stands where once she used to stand,
The coldest prize a father’s eyes have seen.
He weeps for water in a gilded hall,
Where riches are the greatest curse of all.
The Underworld’s Debt (Orpheus)
He strikes the lyre with a trembling hand,
To charm the shadows of the silent deep;
He travels to the dark and hollow land,
Where even ancient furies learn to weep.
The king of ghosts relents to hear his song,
And grants a path back to the living light;
But warns the journey will be hard and long,
And he must never look behind his sight.
The air grows warm, the surface is so near,
He feels the sun upon his weary face;
But sudden doubt is birthed from quiet fear,
And he turns back to find an empty space.
A phantom hand dissolves into the mist,
The final kiss that fate and death have kissed.
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