Penelope

• Divine Antonio-white, Grade 10
• Poetry
• 2017

You left
Son of Ithaca
With but a promise on your lips
You left, to face the rage of a father
The rage of a God
Seven years have passed and your shackled wrists are finally free
But take heed for I have seen worse dangers ahead
Monsters of men will thirst for your flesh
Brothers will turn to swine beneath your feet
And the sea will curse your name
So flee, I beg of you
Before these things come to pass
For you left, Son of Ithaca
With just a promise
But I fear age will cripple me
And death take me before you return.