The Chariot Driver

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Bold Apollo
Scrapes his wheels across
The sky, cackling
Without care at the destruction,
The scorched earth.
He writes his moniker in fire
And carries the women off.
He stays beyond his welcome
And the deserts grow
With glee and malice towards
Crops so carefully planted.
Apollo throws stones at the clouds
To scatter the rain,
To let nothing cloud his visage.
King of whatever he claims.

Brash Apollo.

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