Three Myth Riddles

Firstborn, yet never born,
scooped from a womb of earth,
yet from me would be torn
she who would first give birth.

To give blood, and yet not the first
among killers, nor the one cursed,
but the first among the slain,
blood for blood—sacrifice in vain.

A wager cost him dearly,
though not a wager he made,
losing it all, or nearly,
except his faith which repaid
his losses, although not all
those who lost, and were thus laid
to rest to prove him God’s thrall.


A bio-weapon shaped like a mushroom cloud,
from sphere to sphere its influence expands,
proliferating widely, a few allowed
into its hidden bunker, their keen hands
meaning to defuse the damaged, faulty wires
with skills of scalpel scarce in the wide world,
fixing the electric triggers and misfires
from which all human madness is unfurled.