Born in flame, by Hera thrown,
A child unwanted, cast alone.
Yet from the coals where others burn,
He shaped a world, and made gods learn.
With hammer’s swing and furnace breath,
He carved out beauty, cheated death.
Though limping through Olympus’ halls,
His hands built thrones and temple walls.
No golden curls, no shining face,
But in his craft, unmatched in grace.
Armour, chains and jewelled delight,
He forged at day, he forged at night.
They laughed at him, then wore his gold,
Took what he made, and left him cold.
Even Aphrodite, paired by name,
Would seek another, stoke his shame.
Yet still he toils, beneath the stone,
With fire, sweat, and strength alone.
For while the gods throw spite or spark,
He builds the light that floods the dark.
2025 ©
The Royal Octopus 