It isn’t happenstance that so long ago
Under the glow of an admiring crowd
Was born a ravenous legend, wrapped
In prestige and engulfed in horror
This man, this demon, became more
Than anyone would have thought.

The days were bright when the sun
Would arise from its horizontal sleep
To greet the land itself with warmth
And light the way of all wayward men.
But one escaped those golden rays,
Flying by gallop and spoke
Through thistle and thicket to his fate.

His mouth still, yet word forth from it
Spilled like blood from a fresh wound.
“Oh Powers,” he moaned, grasping tight
Those unruly straps, “If ever I granted you
Any most holy sacrifice reverently
Then lend to me now your purest ear.”

“My enemy, he lies before me at the line,
Plotting and scheming before watchful
And eager eyes. All of which awaiting
My belated and ill-fated arrival there.”
How desperate are the pleas of one so
Forgotten by those to whom he cries.

“I beg of you now on as bent a knee
I can muster alone, curse this man,
This most vile of rats. Bind his hands,
His feet, his animals, his very soul
To the depths of the Earth so not even
Your mighty grip could pull him from
That hellish place to which you have
Damned him so totally and finally.

That dark dark place where not even
The light from the sun can warm the
Deepest recesses of the human heart,
Beating slowly and coldly, having lost
Both love and passion for the things
Of this mortal world for which it once
Yearned so totally and so finally.

Bind to that place my enemy rotten
By pride and by pleasure of a fate
Stolen away from my fickle grasp.
Raped and rewarded at my expense,
Bind this man and let me take back
With all intention what was from
Your hand intended for me alone.

You let him masquerade as a man
So fraught with fortune and talent
When really his skills are forfeit;
By rite and by privilege I demand
Them returned, Oh Powers, I beg,
Let my enemy be scourged.”

When finally he came to a stop,
His chariot wheel burning just
As his soul, then this demon,
This man who called upon powers
Found his enemy tied in the same
Exact manner he had prayed.

A carcasse, no doubt, but in shape,
In form, in color it couldn’t be known.
Limbs were all that could be even
Slightly discerned when his spokes
Lay still amidst dirt and blood,
Tainting the ground with putrid stench.

A puddle was all that remained
Of the man who had been called
‘Enemy’. What took him away, not
One soul knew but still they played
The roles of spectators, watching
With anticipation to see the show.

The pray-err, the demon knelt down
By his foe and took in his earned fruits.
As crowds gathered distant, to see this
Spectacle, this show before them.
For such brutality for their eyes
Never came at a better price.