Tartarus

Ten, twenty, thirty...
Forty lashes from the divine.
Hades himself looked skyward,
Waiting for the forsaken to arrive.

Fifty, sixty, seventy...
Ninety pardons for the priestess.
The very child of Aphrodite,
She eagerly awaits her holy punishment.

One-hundred, two-hundred...
Four-hundred hydrangeas bloom.
Mother herself seeks to blossom,
Yet man restrains such acts.

Twenty-thousand, eighty-thousand...
One-hundred-thousand secrets are withheld.
Apollo watches the earth, and the heavens.
Yet, some things remain unseemly.

One-million, five-million...
Infinite passes on.
Chronos holds the archaic dearly.
While the modern is forgotten,
Leaving an abyssal conflict.