‘What No Tyrant May Command’: A Poem by Dusty Grein

What No Tyrant May Command

I — An Oracular Sign

In the palace of King Minos there was mourning in the night,
for his youngest son had vanished from the yards, the rooms, and halls;
every servant searched the gardens till the dawn broke cold and bright,
yet no footstep gave an echo and no voice answered their calls.
The King’s oracle then whispered of a heifer, strange to see:
“White at sunrise, red at midday, black when darkness came to be,
and the man who reads the sign will find the boy where he now lies.”
Polyidus watched these colors shift and ripen in his mind
like a berry: pale to crimson, then to black as daytime dies.
Thus the seer would discover what the Gods left him to find.

By the wisdom drawn from nature, truth arose from Cretan land—
and provided secret answers which no tyrant may command.

II — A Tragic Discovery

Through the courtyards and the cellars went the seer, from door to door,
till the honey in its storeroom brought his searching to an end;
there young Glaucus lay encased in sticky gold, breathing no more,
and the jar that held that nectar proved a tomb no hand could mend.
Polyidus had fulfilled the task, yet by the King was bound;
for discovery brought no comfort when the child was lifeless found.
Minos heard not, “I have found him,” only “dead” and nothing more;
grief became a royal anger, driven hard against the seer.
“You were sent to bring my son back,” cried the King, his voice a roar,
“do not speak to me of death while you, alive, are standing here!”

Thus his answer to the monarch earned a task from royal hand—
for the King wanted a miracle no tyrant may command.

III — An Unjust Sentence

Polyidus was imprisoned with the corpse, entombed in stone,
and the door was sealed until the child should once more draw a breath.
There the seer sat in the darkness, seeking knowledge not his own,
for he knew no human power could undo a mortal death.
Then a serpent crossed the chamber toward the body icy pale,
and the frightened prophet struck it, lest its venom should prevail.
With a stone he left it lifeless, cold and silent by the child,
but a second serpent entered, found its fellow lying still;
for a moment all was quiet in the tomb, and darkness smiled
till the living snake departed, drawn by some unspoken will.

Kings may build their walls around us, thinking death itself will stand—
but the doorway into life lies where no tyrant may command.

IV — A Miraculous Herb

Then the living snake returned, a green herb held within its jaw,
laid it softly on the body of the serpent, cold and dead;
Polyidus watched the lifeless creature at his feet and saw
breath returning coil by coil, until the snake lifted its head.
No great temple taught this lesson, no high priest had named the leaf;
nay, the Gods had given him this growing cure against his grief.
So the seer picked up the herb and laid it on the royal son;
first a tremor touched the fingers, then the chest began to rise.
Warmth returned to the young face, and a fresh heartbeat had begun;
then young Glaucus looked at him, astonished, with now-living eyes.

What no monarch could have ordered, ancient Gods quietly planned—
for the breath of life’s a secret that no tyrant may command.

V — An Unappreciated Gift

When King Minos saw his son, alive and standing at his side,
he desired not just life now, but the mystic’s secret art;
“Teach him omens, teach him portents, let no sign be left untried,
give him all the ways of knowing what the hidden signs impart.”
Polyidus bowed and taught the boy how birds may mark the sky,
how long shadows bend their message, and how leaves may prophesy.
He taught Glaucus how the hidden world bears footprints for the wise,
how the patient ear may listen to what louder men don’t hear;
yet the seer knew stolen wisdom was a boon that’s soon despised,
and great knowledge, born in chains, can never make one’s vision clear.

Minos thought his crown could mark the mystic’s sight with royal brand—
but the gift of revelation, this no tyrant may command.

VI — A Parting Act

When the lessons all were finished Minos opened wide the gate,
and the seer prepared to leave the island kingdom and the boy;
but he called young Glaucus near him for one final act of fate,
a small gesture he requested, showing neither rage nor joy.
“Come and spit into my mouth,” he said. The young prince did the deed,
and the secrets left his memory like windblown scattered seed.
All the portents, all the omens, all the words were swept away;
not one secret that was forced from Polyidus would abide.
Minos kept the living son whom death had nearly claimed that day,
but the gift he tried to capture slipped beyond him with the tide.

Polyidus crossed the water, leaving Crete a fading strand—
for his knowledge gave him freedom where no tyrant may command.

Dusty Grein is a retired Managing Editor of a small press publishing company—as well as a graphics designer, author, and poet. Originally from Federal Way, Washington, he is a lifetime resident of the Pacific Northwest. His critically acclaimed best-selling novel, The Sleeping Giant, and his first poetry collection, A Mist Shrouded Path, are available in print and as Kindle Select titles. His shorter works and award-winning poetry have been published in several collections, including Chicken Soup for the Soul, OWS Inked, and The Quarterday Review. His blog, From Grandpa’s Heart… is followed by fans around the world.