Prometheus

Cover your sky, Zeus, with cloud haze, and practice, like a boy, who beheads thistles, at oaks and mountain peaks. You have to let me have my earth and my hut, which you did not build, and my stove for its embers you envy me. I don't know anything poorer under the sun than you, gods! You feed poorly of victim taxes and prayer breath your Majesty, and would starv, would not be children and beggars hopeful fools. Since I was a child didn't know where from another, I returned my lost eye to the sun, as if it were over it an ear to hear my lament, a heart like mine to take pity on the oppressed. Who helped me against the arrogance of the Titans? Who saved me from death of slavery? Didn't you accomplish everything yourself? Holy glowing heart? And you glowed young and good, cheated, rescue-thanks to the sleeping one up there? I shoud honor you? For what? Did you ease the pain ever of the laden? Did you still the tears ever of the feared? Didn't forge me into a man the almighty time and eternal destiny, my masters and yours? Did you think I should hate life flee into deserts, because not all blossom dreams ripened? Here am I sitting, forming people of my image, a lineage like me to suffer, to cry, to enjoy and rejoice and not to respecting you, like me!

(Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)