The New Prometheus on His Altar

This poem appears in the Fall 2015 issue of Modern Age. To subscribe now, go here.

I will yet be the fettered fire-thief,
To be god-girded to a victim-stone,
If you will gaze a moment on my grief.

Your eyes will make my Titan-torments brief.
To gain a glance from eyes no man has known,
I will yet be the fettered fire-thief.

And then, perchance, the sight of no relief
Will rouse a tear, which earth-bound falls alone,
If you will gaze a moment on my grief.

Now see how Aura’s breath caressed that leaf—
Let loose a soul-born sigh—and for that groan,
I will yet be the fettered fire-thief.

That music-moan, breeze-like, breath-like and brief,
Shall ease the throbbing of each tortured bone
If you will gaze a moment on my grief.

Your eyes meet mine.  They make me no relief.
My pains increase—and yet, for you alone
I’ll ever be the fettered fire-thief
If you will gaze forever on my grief.

Patrick Murtha teaches at St. Mary’s Academy, St. Marys, Kansas.  He is also a columnist for the St. Marys Star.