I who am there: standing grotesque and bare, I who was devout and pure: blest by the goddess.
Deified and/or Defiled as a curse,
I who don't gouge the eyes of sinners who stare yet I who am forced to glare,
A criminal am I, given hate by their words and actions, yet this curse is almost a blessing in the most modest ways,
Burdened to wear a crown of hate, defiled by rape, by this supposed great, I who am left only snakes.
Snakes who bare their teeth into those who prey, who test me; with all their murderous lust.
I who would pray, sitting by the alter, showing reverence to Athena, I who took and gave no offense by the day.
New heroes come with their oddest ways, with their promised kill of I, their claiming of no staring, oh how very honest.
There is no one but I, no tears, no cry, certainly no why, yet I grow weary.
I stand in this garden of death, a graveyard of statues and stone, nothing more nor much less. If you shall trust.
I recall more footsteps as of late, the place becomes more and more littered with this filth and decay by the day.
Statues of them in stone and dust, the last gaze upon this realm, not wanting to leave this realm if they must.
A young boy that I do not know, though I can hear the whisper of his name: Perseus.
His blade does not scare me, nor does his shield, I must adjust my plan to meet this disgust of me.
His shield that shimmers, his clothes of linen.
He must listen to elders, who say I am unfair.
With one look back I see him slither back towards me, a new strategy, with one unjust slice I am stardust.
