The MinotaurA Poem by Joshua RawlinsThe perspective of the Minotaur. Third in the Modern Metamorphoses poems.The Minotaur Who am I? Can you not see from my jagged brow which lifts to sky two ivory towers? My crown given by gods and blown full around my skull when I learnt to chew and pull, not on tasteless pulpous mulch but on stringent throbbing flesh. The best wine comes fresh from fruit that screams when pressed. My father also screamed when I was born and torn clean from my mother’s womb. My father, the king, who left me when my horns were not grown and heavy was my head to, in solitude, fend. And no one would shed a tear or lend a hand to this half child. Sorrow to lows, and around me my palace grows, the Labyrinth. It protected me but it also starved me, for grass grows not on stone and I was alone. Alone until the first offering stumbled into my dwelling. And I was so starved that I saw not fearful man but the fat of the land. His blood swept down my throat - I revived and saw my bloated figure, thick with muscle, matted with hair, towering, powerful in my open lair. Who am I? I am what you made me, Nothing more. There is no Golden Thread For the Minotaur. © 2014 Joshua RawlinsAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on May 18, 2014 Last Updated on May 19, 2014 AuthorJoshua RawlinsGodalming, Surrey, United KingdomAboutI'm currently seventeen years old, but soon to turn eighteen. I enjoy reading books (have done since an early age), tea, sleep, good food, walks, comedy and/or tragedy - none of this drama nonsense th.. more..Writing
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