A sonnet about believing in mythology.
High on a cold bare granite hill, alone,
With naught but wool to shield me from their wrath
And many sins for which I must atone
I found the end to my own life-long path.
Then down came Zeus (or Jove; I know not which)
I thought I would see Ares first, but no:
The chiefest god first whipped me with a switch
Until my backside red with blood did flow.
When Jove at last returned into the sky
The genii of my various pursuits
Each added insult, spit into my eye,
Or railed at me with monologue disputes.
Inside I smiled, nor offered any fight:
My faith in mythos had been proven right!