The Fire-Tender’s Oath
“In a single word,
I hate all of the gods.”
-Aeschylus
***
My hearth radiates
A crimson-gold hue
Upon the exposed arms
Of cushioned chairs
And chartreuse sofas,
Surrounding a single,
Stained, mahogany table,
Covered in scraps
Of ink-scratched paper.
The flames whisper
Soothing comforts.
My soul still shakes;
Though she shared,
But the briefest
Touch of a dark frost.
Ease those churning thoughts—
Breathe.
Find company with fire.
So long as this hearth
Embraces my hall,
Goodwill be given to all.
Open and varnished red,
My door swings inward.
A life with fire
Forms a Goddess
From a woman.
The truest gifts
Are those given
For our commonality;
The ones whose use
Is not ordained by
A tyrant’s orders.
Let us share this light
And give worship
Through song and tale.
Never shall I forget
The sin of our savior.
The world had not always
Known the warmth
A hearth-held home offers.
Once the shadows
Had brought danger.
Beware. Beware.
Dark days await.
What will hold
The night at bay?
When cowards rise rash
To a violent rage,
Not much stands
In my little light’s way.
The Gods will declare
With the same thunder
As a storm, whose
Coming occurs once
The old die and
The young forget.
Another chance to
Usurp the throne
We gave to the sun’s
True begotten son.
They will bow low
Through zealous reverence
To the heaven’s edict.
Take your children to the
Deepest caverns, where
Stalagmites drip murky water.
Pray in fervent fear for
The sun, whose light
Protects only half the day.
This, by all logic,
Made sense.
This was fair, for
What right had we
To take more than
Gods had given?
The massed hogs now
Lie with us in filth;
Though, they slobbered
And squealed for a chance
To nestle their
Shaved, pink, protruding skulls
Betwixt the bosom of their
Lordly shepherds, despite
Denouncing their rule
In pursuit of hog dreams
And hog desires.
Why should I hate a pig
For dreaming pig dreams?
Cool, muddy, puddles and
Scraps of rotten fruit to fill.
I wish for different things;
Though, they might as well be the same
For all the good wishes do.
Oh tyrant Gods,
Leave my hearth be.
Prometheus alone suffers
For the kinship we now hold.
Why should his anguish
Not satisfy your sacrificial demands?
The Fire-thief beat the
Heavens with neither brawn,
Nor blade, but with wit,
Honest crime, and pure heart.
The halls of heroes shall
Herald shunned saviors
All the same; though let pain
Not be a necessity of virtue.
This oath, I take
Solemn and true;
To my friends,
And my foes.
To my siblings
Which we are all;
My blood binds
To this fire’s fate.
My hearth, I will tend
With loving dedication,
So the light shines freely,
So the light shines kindly;
However, should ever these flames
Flicker or wane or fade
By decree of God,
Or their lords,
Or their creatures,
Or their livestock;
Then, so too does my contract expire.
Warmth will cease to echo across my walls,
For a shadowless fire burns wicked and
Pure, yet restrained with dedication
Through the craft my kin gave.
I need permission from no God
For my fire scorches
All creatures,
Who dare come near.
The earth will liquefy
Beside the heat of a bestial fury.
Let Zeus fear the gift of Prometheus.
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