Ode to Oedipus: The Horrors of Hindsight

We can't all be Kreon, There has to be an Oedipus. Close your eyes, don't blind them. Jocasta's brooches, irridescent; caecus, can you find them? Identity is frivolous, use your hands, don't bind them. Tiresias and the Oracle, the gods, they speak through men. Shrouded in disbelief, you claimed it heresy. We saw you as a king. As a monster you couldn't see. You caused all of your sorrow, then masked your misery. You tell us of your crimes, of you in your father's bed. Mother's milk's not for a man, but a baby's boon instead. The chorus of elders is your soul, a prayer bed made of them. Next time, sport the blindfold, some sights aren't good for men.