The Death of Destiny, Part I
Enktantas sat bolt upright,
in his hut near the temple walls,
he lived just below Olympus,
worked there beneath the mountain tall.
He worked to serve the oracles
who would augur the will of gods,
Enktantas was no holy man,
but paid decently for his job.
Yet now he shivered in the night,
stunned by the bizarre words he heard,
while sleeping there had come a voice,
“You must find Destiny,”it whispered.
“You must go and find Destiny,
And when you go do bring a sword.”
Were the gods now speaking to him?
He could not understand the words…
He tried to put it from his mind,
but night after night it returned,
every night came slightly louder
until his very soul did burn.
When he asked the priests he worked for
they proclaimed that he must be mad,
gods only spoke through oracles,
something in his mind must be bad.
But still the voice kept speaking up,
Enktantas could no longer sleep,
he had to seek out Ananke,
the goddess of all destiny.
And so Enktantas set out on
a journey to find gods themselves,
an epic tale in Greek fashion,
pour Enktantas went through sheer hell.
He had to fight a great cyclops,
seduce and bed a siren strong,
join centaurs in a war on harpies,
ride the kraken through evil throngs.
He even went down to Hades,
seen things mortals should never know,
and were this author better skilled
this all would be part of this poem.
But instead we’ll skip on two years,
to the end of this poor man’s quest,
when in the depths of Macedon,
with deep scars carved into his breast
He came upon a simple home,
built of stone back in ancient days,
a brilliant light came from inside,
and limping, the man made his way.
He passed countess lesser morai,
the Fates of legend and lore,
but he was looking for their mom,
to Ananke, to finish his chore.
None stopped him as he reached the front,
bathed in an ethereal light,
Enktantas stopped in the doorway,
his mind taken by just the sight.
A woman bare but for light robes,
who looked no more than twenty years,
pale eyes and an unmatched beauty,
marred only by slow-moving tears.
He’d never seen such a woman,
no mortal could match this goddess,
how long he spent there, he knew not,
what ever could compare to this?
In one had she held a great scroll,
never-ending it passed her eyes,
she’d look deeply upon the words,
then would project her voice outside,
calling to her daughters, the Fates,
usually giving them a name,
Enktantas knew this meant the death
of men and women far away...
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2022
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