As he approached the oracle
a vulture circled in the sky.
He quickly beached his coracle

and dragged it to the reeds nearby.
Why came this loathsome bird to feed?
Alas, he guessed the reason why.

He crossed the plain with little heed,
as, rock by rock, this barren land
tore blistered feet and made them bleed.

At last he left the scorching sand
to start the final craggy climb,
a journey leaving him unmanned

for he was running out of time,
and still the vulture circled round,
a grim reminder of his crime.

At length, he reached the higher ground
and turned his gaze across the sea
from whence he came while others drowned.

The vulture landed in a tree.
It held its grip with wrinkled claw
and eyed his heart malevolently.

Then, far below, upon the shore,
he spied another wicker craft
dragged up the beach, as his before,

by two dark shapes, one fore, one aft,
his nemesis, he was pursued,
with his death warrant autographed.

He grasped the rocks, his flight renewed,
and climbed again with fevered haste.
His safety lay in altitude.

For many weeks, these wraiths had chased
relentlessly to hunt him down,
and now at last they had the taste

of blood that stains the victor's gown -
that crimson guilt of mighty men
that flows to forge each kingly crown.

Above, to save him, lay the den
that held the jewel-encrusted key
(of which he learned by power of Zen)

to turn the lock and set him free.
He strove with his remaining breath,
in hope to reach this sanctuary

before the shades who sought his death
should gain more ground and close the gap,
and then pronounce their shibboleth,

those potent words, his soul to trap.
Beelzebub and Astaroth
have arts with which to weave and wrap

their lies within a monkish cloth
to seem like truth. Each sleight of tongue
corrupts, as does the soft-winged moth.

He battled on with burning lung
until at last he reached the place
of which the ancient seers had sung,

but there he found he'd lost the race.
There was no key absolving guilt,
and no escape from his disgrace.

The hope that, in his mind, he'd built
to finally escape the Fates,
dissolved as did the blood he'd spilt.

When faced head-on by desperate straits
he'd made the choice to save his skin
and saved himself by drowning mates.

Death now loomed, its hideous grin
the final price for his foul sin.