Jason Ross Inczauskis
Lord Hephaistos, Mighty in Art,
I sing the tale of your wretched start,
And how in triumph you returned,
And a throne upon Olympos earned.
How weak, you seemed, when you were born,
And filled your Mother’s mind with scorn.
Unsightly child, with grotesque mien!
No fitting child for Lovely Queen!
With twisted limbs, and body frail,
You were sickly, weak, and pale.
And doomed as well, I’m sure she said,
Much better off if you were dead.
And so she cast you down from there,
To land upon this earthly sphere.
To live or die as Fate decreed,
And dwell on Earth in wealth or need.
Survive you did, though not alone,
For Thetis took you to her home,
And did her best to raise you right,
With virtue pure and notions bright.
Replaced by strength, your weakness passed,
By crafting wonders unsurpassed.
For any substance you desired,
You could forge in the Muses’ fire.
As strength and skill within you grew,
There still was something left to do.
Your Mother had cast you away,
But through your vengeance, you would stay.
And so you crafted thrones of gold,
With gemstones lovely to behold,
Then brought them to that sacred hall,
With Hera’s finest of them all.
By now you’d grown so strong and fair,
That none among them knew you there.
So none could warn or raise alarm,
Or think you’d mean their Great Queen harm.
So Hera sat, devoid of fear,
Not seeing peril drawing near.
With glee you smiled upon the Queen,
Then trapped her there with chains unseen!
Hera struggled, her eyes gone wild,
As helpless as a cast off child.
You laughed with joy, revenge complete,
Then left her trapped there in her seat.
The others tried to give her aid,
To break those fetters you had made.
But all their strength was all for naught,
So finely were those fetters wrought.
Zeus himself couldn’t make them bend,
So your friend Bacchus he did send
To sway your mind to make your peace,
And grant your prisoner’s release.
These treasures were bestowed on thee,
To trade for Hera’s liberty:
A home within the highest place,
And honor from the mortal race.
To Olympos, you ascended,
And your war with Hera ended.
From wretched birth, you’d beat all odds
To take your place amongst the Gods.
You made your plan and saw it through,
And now we mortals worship you.
Within your presence, we feel whole,
Hopeful that you will forge our souls.
And make of us a work of art,
And keep us dear within your heart.
Hephaistos, Skillful God of Fire,
I ask you, grant this one desire:
To take our spirits, make them strong,
To help us, though our lives aren’t long.
Prepare us for eternity,
That we might someday dwell with thee.
neosalexandria 