*Almost* an answer

 As Icarus flew too close to sun,
he instead a “different” freedom won.
Escape from Cretans he accomplished there,
and drowned when wings of wax and feathered hair
melted so there was no lifting power
down to the sea where was his final hour.

Released were all the evils of this world
When Pandora took the lid off out they swirled.
It seemed like such a minor thing to do
until resulting evil grew all through
the earth with consequences more than she
could pray away even on bended knee,
though at the bottom of that jar, now needed
was hope, though better to obedience heeded.

The folly of King Midas and his greed
gave him much more gold than he could need.
Into that gold his daughter turned, and dead,
all his food turned solid gold instead.
When he wanted to this curse undo
he sent his power of golden change into
the river where it flowed out of his hands
and scattered on the banks in golden sands,
but far too late to save his much loved child.
He was still king but only of the wild.
A turban hid his secret donkey ears,
but not the knowledge holding all his fears.

These epic stories charm us but untrue,
revealing human nature or the real
things that we need a deity to construe
or for salvation, a god to make appeal.

©2014 P.Johnson

Acknowledgement

I want to give attention to the lady
with the bleeding, gaping, riven wound.
She’s lost more than is common, just too lately;
That wound to staunch, I want to stay attuned.
She takes each day with certain kind of stoic.
She hasn’t any choice in emptiness,
but fills the time as one somehow heroic,
the heartache right on top, in loneliness.
The catharsis of her daily work and struggle
holds down the rising panic underneath.
As no more are two lives, their schedules juggle,
and sadness as inheritance bequeathed.
The Healer is the One who brings the healing.
but we can care, and love, and pray while kneeling.