Riveted

once more the candle flickers and dies no gust of wind to fan the flame and I stand riveted Prometheus to a rock the flesh slowly peeled by carnivorous talons hungry for new-blood's breath chains without keys rattle in defiant rage scorching the night reverberating thunder to awaken the gods hammering the gates with fired-lead fury but there is no response from Olympian heights as the final dying echo falls like a raindrop in a puddle of silence. (Previously published in Some Words: A Place For Poetry, Nov - Dec 1999)