A British Tragedy

A British Tragedy

In the shadows prowls Cerberus
Schizophrenic in the dark
One head yellow, one head blue
The other red, with contrasts stark
At least that’s how it used to be
When it took its rightful place
An imperfect flawed security
To guard the mortal human race
Till Poseidon washed the colours out
Ran and merged them into one
Leaving Hades gates in doubt
And Ares marching at a run
Three heads too busy squabbling
To see the sins that they have done
Silver pieces crossing paws
Claws now rendered dull and blunt
Against the rigours of this world
Gainst bigger, fatter cats than them
Scratching posts that now they serve
Titans that they now defend
With mortals in a Gorgons gaze
With apathetic skins of stone
A golden fleece to warm the rich
To keep them living, flesh and bone
With Cerberus not standing guard
The Hydra takes its fateful call
Heads claim independent cards
Yet the serpent’s party bodies all
As Sirens sing to lull us in
To press us with their news print songs
Pegasus? They clipped his wings
Our route to freedom, cantered, gone
And the Minotaur, he trawls the maze
For those who fight, who yet still see
Cyclops imprisoned in their cage
Achilles heeled at their knee
And all the while Titans clash
The Krakens called from where it lays
Whirlpools swallow land and sea
The Argonauts, they take their place
Amidst the swirls, red, yellow, blue
A turgid mix that spirals down
And Cerberus still takes his cue
Bickering ‘tween throne and crown