Poetry and poësie

Painting by George Frederic Watts

Mythical brand

There are walls
around Theseus.
A door opening.
Through which he walks.
He sees walls around him.
The light in the ceiling is dim.
Insects have collected
in the off-white glass shade.
He walks through another opening.
There are walls around him.
The light switch against the wall
shows signs of wear,
it is stained by fingers
that have flicked it through time.
He hears heavy footsteps
beyond the wall.
He is very close now,
Theseus tells himself softly
and lights the gas flame.
He holds the branding iron over the flame.
He is mine, Theseus thinks.
Nobody else will have the right
to copy me.