#typhon
Child, so full of yourself, drunk on your own rebellion -
The caricature you call by His name is such a great target
For all the bile, bitterness, blame - oh, you could have done better!
No thrones, no scepters, no Gods, no masters - no justice
Aside from that of humanity is allowed. After all,
Who wouldn’t want to spit in a tyrant’s face?
Rage against… yet, you never learned to rage FOR.
Think you are strong? Turn around and meet the storm:
He is still that youth who rebelled against Kronos, you know.
It is never over - the Titanomakhy. They are here.
In all the things that unravel the Kosmos. In Hydra’s poison,
In broken oaths, in Lykaon’s feast, in the whispers of Ate,
In silence, enforced with sticks and stones, in bowed heads,
In words that taste like refined sugar, in heavy shackles
Binding the innocent. Seeping through every fissure
Beneath your feet - and high in the firmament. In the monsters
That seem so misunderstood when you read the stories
Written by those who knew they would never meet one.
In Typhon’s world-shaking, sky-twisting shrieks,
That brought the Gods to Their knees. All, but one. He stood tall,
He fought and He fell. Then, He rose again to bleed and prevail.
After all, who else? The father of Gods and men
Has no scapegoats. Only strong shoulders. His wounds will heal,
And sinews can be replaced. Such an easy thing to forget:
The Gods are not statues. Don’t count His battles. Don’t look for the scars.
Just know: even Atlas does not envy this burden. Something goes wrong?
Blame the boss. All goes well? Yes, we managed it all despite Him…
That laughter - thunderous, rumbling - rises above all the venom.
The balance of golden scales is in the hand that holds them;
Force and Zeal, Power and Victory - set those birds free.
Beneath His Aigis, all beings stand proud - and He smiles,
For the quarrelsome ones can’t tell their own reflection from His.
Willem Goeree (1635 - 1711) - Typhon, The Father of All Monsters