Hands

by Menerothiel

A poem I wrote about Hercules, from Megara's point of view. Rated for vague violence.

Princess Megara to Her Husband, Hercules

---

My children lay on the floor,

lifeless.
Their bones crumbled, like charcoal sticks,

until they are smears on the floor.
See your

Hands, heavy, calloused.
Stained brown from golden sun.
Stained red from weeping blood.
Your hands.
Will they crumble me too?
Dash me into the floor, like my children,

and splinter my bones?
Your hands

have conquered giants

thrown down monsters

made you a hero.
But now, your hands--

This is not the work of a hero.

---

A/N: This was an English assignment I was proud of. It's Megara as Hercules is killing her and their children. The bold and underline is where I had to mark phrases and stuff-- ignore it. Sorry about the choppy spacing.