man, i sure do love odysseus, son of laertes and anticlea (frail now, of body and mind, hands covered in soil and skin wrinkled. a mother never seen again, her heart shattered for the boy she lost on the open sea.) husband to penelope (tear stained, filled with remorse for all she should've, could've, would've- didn't. where are you? where have the gods taken you?) father of telemachus (he will not recognize you, son to a father he never knew and never will, for a man leaves and a ghost returns, terrified of waters and of travelling so far. mama, when will father be home?), king of ithaca. (the land people call barren, now kingless. once so full of life, now the young lords lay bloodied on the marble floor of the palace for their pride. you bounced them on your knee, have you no conscience?)
yeah, man, i just love odysseus. (sing, muse, of the man who could never be the same again with so much blood staining his hands.)
