My Greek bubbling muse

There was a time that I stood silent, crying out to be the hero.
A now or never moment that became a moment of infinite potent versions of reality took place as I was striving my way out the Lethe.
Hades was a faithful friend of mine, sharing its glory of his own part in our performance.
Then you brought me the Halcyon days in my field of perception.
The sarcophagus of my nightmares and fears made a start building itself brick by brick.
Our resemblance of continuity is undeniable, lined in parallel, anticipating for a curve.
Stronger than the bow of Odysseus, the skills for this archery must be so high that seem out real. But in a series of divine made tales, nothing is.
The arrow has to be cleaned well. Smoothing the surface slightly will allow it to fly to the closest point of what your focus and movement work together to conquer.

However, the past is history. And the rest is a mystery, so they say.
The shade that is hiding the rays of the solar consciousness seems like a diaphanous peplum over the vision of my heart.
My illusions are dancing over the edges of these rays, confusing me and letting me wander into the unknown, searching for my courage.