I sought to hold the morning sun, to claim its brilliance as my own. Yet warmth turned cold in what I won, and hunger chilled my gilded throne. Who am I?

I left no breath, no sound, no cry, Yet linger still where eons lie. Not born of ink, yet shaped in lore, pressed deep beneath the rocky floor. No mind recalls the form I cast, Yet stone remembers what could not last.

released in nineteen-ninety, I was too expensive for most to procure. cartridges then cd, neither made it past obscure. arcade or home console, while Japanese in origin, my roots are all Greek.

I ride with kings, though I wear no crown I march in rows, but never leave the ground Straight I advance, yet sideways I slay One humble step can change my fate one day

Born before flowers learned to rise, beneath forgotten, ancient skies, my blossoms rise in springtime air though not a single bee's been there.