Antigone, may your screams never die
echoing, reverberating against the centuries.
A soul reddened and raw, whetted against
razor-thin strings of unyielding Fate.
Yes, you must play your part through to The
End. Listen! the last strains of the chorus are fading;
only now can you draw breath. In love with the
impossible, a mortal fleeing her own
Shadow. What madness turns your purpose? Born of an
impure union, scorned by the gods, an accursed plaything.
How cruel! To have an innate fire—some call it
Stubbornness—others: a divine ploy to prolong
affliction, for a kicking, screaming death makes for better
entertainment than the resignation of wise men.
Wisdom does not amuse the gods.
Your death will require much chewing, a gnashing of teeth.
Violent light glints off the ivory fangs of immortals:
most souls slip between jutting crags unassuming,
unnoticed. Not yours: bones will crack,
Flesh will stick to liminal space between teeth before ultimate
Swallow. Devoured by the Divine, the most pagan of longings.
The painting that is existence—I wonder, how many colors of
Emotion were given to you? Is your canvas but a mass of
Red? Did you have the time, the leisure, to paint in another hue?
Single-minded focus was your destiny, your brush wet with
Blood. A trail of soil is left behind in your wake, intermingled
With the scent of wine-soaked earth and tears. All your life,
You have been chasing Death. Feral child, remember—
Nothing vast enters the lives of mortals without ruin.
Yeokyeong Kim