Four Ages of the Minotaur

 

Around the corner deep within,

Where rocks and flames are drawn to life,

With flint and bone the beast was raised.

In words and fear its lust was craved.

 

In metal times its cave was shame.

Above its world the shields and swords

Could glint and glitter in the sun.

Down there its monstrous form was shunned.

 

Below the glories forged from trade

Its pit became a lead-mill floor.

The monster’s greed stretched out for more:

More lead, more coal, more steam, more blood.

 

And now beneath our nothing age

Its abstract grip grows stronger still.

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