Bored

Pirates, filled with greed for notions of gold, stop me, the wavering hero. “Riches await,” they beckon. “Make this your final stay, and work with us.”

The answer was plain as day, perhaps. Yet I had still my pride, ambition, duty. “Know you of Icarus?” I ask. “The wings of Daedalus melt when comes the sun.”

The pirates laugh, heckle, jeer. “You, who killed your mother, have the gall to speak of myth?”

I seek calmness, silence, balance—the mark of sages. “Truth stands as it is.”