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Chthonic Memories
By William Eichler

There isn’t much left of us nowadays -

little more than stones, scattered at the feet

of those who pretend to follow. 


I have to admit, though, there is a certain…

tenacity to them, but greatness still seems to be

just out of reach. 


I suppose our time had to come at some point.

Yet they insist on keeping us alive.

Latching us to a ghost of immortality, 

and mutating us to fit their needs.


They’ve made me a villain now. 

A dark lord ruling over the damned

in the darkness below them.


I cannot truly blame them for it, but

was I truly so cruel?

Harsh, perhaps. 

But never cruel.


When the Thracian boy came to me, 

I gave him a choice.

Offered him a deal. 

His beloved could have been his,


had he just listened.

Is it my fault he doubted me?

He looked back that day and wept, 

and I wept with him. 


I knew his pain, 

I knew the emptiness that would be left 

within him. But I gave him his chance,

and he still proved so fond of folly. 


If only he had won. 

Perhaps I’d have been given 

a kinder light. 

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