Thursday, August 31, 2006

A Poem of Healing

That We may Honour and Celebrate the Deathless Gods in all their Splendour and Glory...

Khoros. Sing, oh mousai,
a new song,
a story never told,
not from the glory days of old,
I ask not for talk of heroes dressed in splendid array,
of tall proud ships from far away,
I ask not of how it was when the empire was good and strong,
and men and women to the gods belonged.
But rather, I prey ye,
sing a song for modern folk,
who think the gods are but a joke,
of how we lost our way,
then finally I prey,
sing of how we may return,
so candles on altars once again may burn,
and glory shall return at last,
but start us off with the mistakes of the past.

Mousai. We shall reply for you have asked,
and though it be no easy task,
we'll tell you of that fateful day,
when man became god and went astray,
of how the Earth did quake with rage,
and machines and the tyrant of the new age.
Of how proud Zeus and Athena wept,
to see that mortals did forget,
and how in anger they tore from the world,
the goodness they possessed,
and how as each day unfurled,
the new rulers took over the land,
killing every woman, child, and man,
but softly, oh so softly was his cunning,
that no one could believe,
that this fine ruler, this king of heaven,
was only make believe.
And now we shall tell you who paid the price,
for man's obsession with cruelty and vice,
how every god and goddess alike,
mourned at the pitiful site,
for it was not enough that man alone,
destroyed that which he did not own,
but then he took the Earth itself,
and the precious metals he did melt,
killed the animals beautiful and fare,
a good mortal is often too rare.

Khoros. But tell us more of those who are not,
the ones who have not forgot,
who worship as in the days of old,
it is them for whom this story is told.

Mousai. Ah yes, the few and far between,
the ones who with battered eyes have seen,
the pain, the sorrow and all the grief,
and who looked upon it in disbelief.
These people are the fairest of,
what's left of goodness, hope, and love.
They lift their hands and pray aloud,
with fear for life they sacrifice,
and ask Athena to make them wise,
to how to build a better land,
with goodness where people understand.
With torn shirts and beaten limbs,
the hymns of Orpheus they begin,
to sing as though there very life,
depended on their strength and will to survive.
And with equal force and anger mounting,
the evil ones in numbers uncounting,
beat them back,
the temples burn,
spit on the Earth and all the gods they spurn.
Then Zeus, with a mighty crash,
throws his fiery thunder bolt at their pollution and trash.
And Poseidon and his son Triton,
move waters as did the long-ago tightens.

Khoros. But what of the people who are all fools,
who've lost the sacred and cherished rules,
who laugh at life and more at death,
who have no care for another's breath?

Mousai. They sit and stare at what the gods have made,
then apply sunscreen for a bit of shade.
More wood they bring more coal they mine,
more than was used in ancient times.
They care for luxury but no honour do they find,
for all of them have been made blind,
by foolish assertions and the power they have gained,
for they are the new gods,
or so they claim.

Khoros. Can anything be done to stop,
this waste of humanity,
to restore to us some manner of dignity?
And do the gods hate us for what we've become,
a race of nothing but soot and scum?

Mousai. Have courage for even the gods have said,
not all of your faith in us is dead,
and those who dare to lead the way,
will find that finally one day,
the Earth will be beautiful and the temples will stand,
and man and god will again walk hand in hand,
and honour and respect will be restored.
Of this you may be reassured.

Khoros. So then we say to you oh beautiful mouses,
we will take your advice and learn how to use it.

Mousai. Then all in good haste and all in good time,
for all of your toil you shall find,
a reward of the highest magnitude.

khoros. We thank you and leave with solemn gratitude.
And so on that day hope re-entered the world,
and with each passing moment with each leaf unfurled,
we'll sing the story of how it will be,
when the gods and all humanity,
will live once again as in the days of old,
a new story, yes,
but I'm glad it was told.

Written by "Tiffany", a member of "Hellenic Recons" hellenic group.

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