Asterion

This place is haunted by shades that Hades
Didn’t want. By now, though, you know the heart
Of the Labyrinth by heart, its smooth walls
Cool to the touch. You bellow in the dark,
Pursuing the hapless tribute, chasing
The sound of screams that echo down the halls.
The tang of human blood on your tongue rings
Through your head like a gong. One horn, stained orange
With blood and ochre; the other one shorn
Off by a would-be hero, a youth who
Could not yet string his father’s bow. His bones
Rest neatly in a dead-end. Still you see
The placid lakes, the verdure, the rugged
Mountains of home, where everything made sense.