Athena

Athena

Was it because
Paris chose Aphrodite
that your heart became brittle
and your soul, once radiating
with all the colors of the rainbow
slowly bled into black?
Was it because
you weren’t chosen,
that you exchanged your
wisdom and strength
for bloodlust and revenge?

But Athena,
it wasn’t your fault
that your sister was cunning enough
to tempt a virile young man with
a face that launched
a thousand ships.
Aphrodite used lust
to win,
and your gifts
of wisdom and warfare
cannot really win
against the call
of the loins.

Does it
make you powerful
to see us toiling,
cramping,
bleeding
in battle,
while you sit on your
high horse,
and polish your blade
as we die?

I’m sorry that you
weren’t chosen,
I’m sorry that you
lost.
But
punish us not,
Athena.
It wasn’t our fault
as well,
that you think
you can compensate
your loss
with the misery
of your
people.

Athena,
was it because you
weren’t chosen,
weren’t loved?

I pity you,
Athena,
for even though
Troy has fallen
beneath your
vengeful sword,
and burned with the
flames of your
furious heart,
we died as
free men,
hearts strong,
minds pure,
souls intact.

Quite unlike
you
who lived
and reigned
and lorded
over all.
Unchosen.
Unloved.