A babe was born, and Zeus heard her cries,
thought of her as a fighter, like the sceptre at his side,
‘til a curse was recognised, and he was warned of his demise.
The Oracle revealed, ‘You’ll wane, your power will capsize, and they’ll think of you a fool, the memory’s last, history loops’.

He sat, sombre, with his thoughts,
grappling with the past: a deadly retort.
Parricide aches and exhausts his mind,
Remorse fighting against Earth’s temples, followers, and shrines.  

With every passing day, the girl remained under cautious, watchful eyes,  
Remaining humbled and grounded around the clock--tantalised,
so she never seeks out the strength to exorcise her oppressor,
or end his living epoch.

Years gone by, with a life being lost,
Zeus moped on his throne, reflecting on his daughter when bound to his side.
At what expense did I escape the fate assigned to me, who did it cost?
His greed exploited his sanity, his sanity drove him to exchange
his daughter for a prophecy that he unknowingly attained.