Thetis to Her Son

A Poem by Grant

What Thetis should’ve said.

Sulk, then, my son, if you choose to sulk;
The gods know well that you have cause to.
No fault will fall on you for sulking,
But the gods won’t honor a sulker like you.

Bathe, my son�"bathe in self-pity.
Bathe in woes to your very chin.
Sure, the bath may reek of impotence,
But at least it soothes the skin.

Who needs honor and triumph and glory
When there’s comfort in indignation?
Why Not choose sympathies and sorrows
Over respect and admiration?

Because that’s not you, Achilles.

Leave it to the lesser men
To lament the world’s injustice,
To ache with the pangs of obscurity
And wish for peace and bliss.

Better to Be the world’s injustice
Than to sit and cry about it.
Better to bring the peace to end
Than to idle and wish upon it.

You hunger for significance, my son,
Yet you feed on excuses.
You thirst for legacy,
Yet lap on perceived abuses.

Now rise, Achilles. The choice is yours.

Curse the gods and mourn your fate.
Beg pity in return for shame.
Or bring fear and envy to the gods themselves
And honor upon your name.