The Oath
The grief of mortals is a passing horror.
We gods, who live forever, saw far more.
Conceived in burning chaos were we few;
Beyond the pain of mortals what we knew.
And I, who suffered more than mortals may,
Conceived this fortress to all fears allay.
Let any call for comfort, they can come:
My peace shall render every torment numb.
My peace protects whoever poison pricks.
These things I swore upon the river Styx.
Copyright © Jerrold Prothero | Year Posted 2025
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