The Elysian Fields
Lo, but ill grace hath granted unto this man,
The unfortunate fate of Prometheus
For he is bound to, the darkness of which hath consumed his land.
He bleeds of broken body from beneath the crimson bloody tide,
wailing without just honor for fallen brothers by his side.
His tears of sorrow water the desolate and barren plain
As want of hope, lay dispelled before the ravaged and slain.
For he in his woe had launched his failing heart upon the Acheron.
Giving to it asunder, forgiving those lost in deaths silent pain.
Oh Charon, take not this fare into your night,
Grant this once penitence to pass unto Elysian Fields bright.
Leave not this shade to its soul to transgress,
Let those whom fell without honor, alas find rest.
Yea, strike not thy oar against their kind, and seek them not,
Return them now by the way of Persephone.
By her...To the way of honor,
by passage unto their true home.
Alas let it be so….
J. Allen Wilson © 2005