Hephaestus
Some are born on a pedestal
Favored by the fates
Others are born living gods
With gifts and holy traits
I was born with a ball and chain
From screams of a mother’s pain
We all climb the same mountain
But take different paths
I climb through the razor back edges
An unwelcomed guest
Though their blessings are clear in the light
Mine is dormant, unbothered by my call
Could it be the struggles and misfortunes I endure?
Like ore pulled from the earth
Am I to be refined to the blacksmith’s liking?
Is every obstacle his hammer giving me shape?
Are these dark thoughts, the fire in his furnace?
Should I be greatfull and humble for my isolation?
Or is this just a comforting thought that keeps me going?




















