Grendel weeps
into the glass-clear spring
set deep within the dark, cool cave
that he calls home.
He watches ripples pulsing out,
like grief-fueled heartbeats,
grown by years of loneliness
and anger,
deep beneath the landscape of his rage.
The blood of Cain which stains his soul
has made him loathed
by accident of birth,
a hated thing,
a monster guilty of that greatest sin;
the sin of being,
the sin of saying
"I exist!"
Grendel weeps alone
and hears the sound of revelers
echo through his empty cave,
reminding him of all the things
he did not have,
and anger grew.
He smelled the savory smoke of feasts
that he would never taste,
and anger grew.
He heard the songs
that he would never sing,
the voices of the women
he would never kiss,
and finally the laughter
of a joy beyond his reach,
till anger grew beyond
the bounds of his humanity,
when finally the beast was truly born
and Grendel wept no more.
YOU ARE READING
A Mind's Eye
PoetryA collection of poems grown from myth and mind. Gods, monsters, and mortal men in a variety of poetic forms. Narratives and allegories as deeply rooted in the psyches of modern humanity, as in the civilizations that planted those seeds. Songs from d...
