Poem: If a God and a Man are One and the Same
I think I mentioned a while ago that I would post all my poetry here, but I suppose I sort of lied since I haven't done so. Of course, a perfect way of breaking this horrible habit is by posting my newest; an eight page long monster dipped in history and so many allusions that my usual editor needed a full explanation. :)
If a God and a Man are One and the Same
You look down
Blinding, bright down
Where you command the light
That golden, glorious fool
To sparkle in splendor
To squash the surreptitious shadows
Under a chariot
That happily killed a son
The world does not change often
Youthful years pass
Elderly eons rot after
But the people still cry
Moan and tear out their grown hair
For pity and sacrifice
Still devour meat and blood
Still dance in pleasure around fires
To claim all for you
Today she trembles
Her mountains quake with
Ferocious fear and
Terrible trepidation
With striking awe and
Undeniable jealousy
With incredible love
As you order the sun to fly
And the boy wails for the first time
Beautiful brothers and siren-like sisters
Darling daughters and shining sons
And volatile wives
Gather and gasp and grumble
As tiny eyes open
Small fingers join in
Waiting
They suffocate and shout
Begging and groveling
Needling and bribing
Demanding and cajoling
For the truth of this boy
And the world’s fate
The child grows
Body swift like the flowing rivers
Mind sharper than lightning’s path
Face forever a child’s
Demanding untold satisfaction
Eyes too haunting
Too needy, too knowing
Too proud, too purposeful
To hide among men
He comes to visit you
The hero turned spirit
The ghost, then warrior
Who would now trade anything
To have had
Quite simply
Sandals that covered the heel
He scrambles slowly
Shaking off Death’s hold
Though only for a meek moment
Hair shorn short forever
Grief’s mockery
He stands at your side
Where you do your waiting and watching
No longer golden
Except in his memories
He asks,
“Is it true?”
And you look down
At the almost man
Who at the meaningful moment
Has riding reins in hand
Proving the world his worth
“He is of your blood, you know,”
You mention
And he nods his neck
Still stiff with the climb
His gaze is guarded
Sorrow shifts at your soul’s edges
At how imploringly empty
His hands look
Without spear and shield
Dark eyes darken and raise righteously
“But is he of yours?”
You smile and shrug
The storms shudder
Your brother approaches
To bring back his prisoner
A while later
Battles bloom
War coats the warm air
With the faint taste of terror
The acrid aroma of anger
The promise of prestige
The last is the strongest
Heavy and heavenly heady
The boy is close to a man
He drinks it in, devours it
He sifts through it in his dreams
Under his pillow, it whispers
Encourages in his ears
Another comes for a talk
A glittering demigod
Bronze fur lining his shoulders
The white teeth grazing his forehead
Blind eyes above his own
Your son comes
You both look down and watch
It is not long ‘til he questions
“And whose son is he?”
You laugh
And the clouds break
Thunder raging with your permission
Refreshing rain falling
Painting the dry ground
Changing and shaping it
To its cool desires
“Does it matter?”
You inquire with evasiveness
Calculated and pristine
Cool like polished silver
The lion’s white eyes lower
As the other thinks
Ponders and prods
At the thoughts he is thinking
Eventually he says,
“Man cannot aspire to these heights.
It is blasphemy for such to be so.
Yet he is unpunished
For his pride and pomp.
He assumes much, too much,
If the rumors are not real,
And he is just a man,
While still son of a king.”
Thus his wise words
You heard them
You knew them
You smiled at them
Placed an arm on broad shoulders
Brought him close
“Watch his will.
Feel his fate.”
Seconds slithered by
“Is he my son?”
Skin splits below
Men bathe in blood
Another of your blasted sons
Dances and delights
In the murder and mayhem
Your temper is terrible
And your cuff sends him sprawling
His companions crawl
On wretched knees for forgiveness
You turn away
Bored with the spectacle
The boy is a man now
Sure and strong
Powerful and with great purpose
The greatest warrior
The most brilliant mind in war
The bravest soldier
The most foolish dreamer
A killer of men
A lover of glory
A leader
Cities crumble
The polis falls to pieces
The phalanx marches
Under the crunching of old bones
You step down from your throne
Your palace protected
By sweet, swirling clouds
The cave welcomes you
Though Death itches your skin
The monsters let you pass
Whimpering at your face
The boat keeper, the guard
Rows faster than ever
Churning the foggy water
Clouded with lost souls
You travel through the rooms
Marked by sorrow
Faintly and clumsily connected
By high hallways of passing honor
You find your man
Huddled in the corner of such
Bitter but not broken
Head empty without golden leaves
Without the physical mark
Of a great general
He watches your approach
With a single dull eye
Still haunted by humanity
Still remembering skin and
The wonders of war
There is no respect
No admiration or adoration
As he opens wide,
“Was he ever my son at all?”
You take in his messy mane
His untrimmed beard
His torn and ripped robes
You think of the man
Conquering nations
“Depends on what you mean
When you call a man ‘Son.’”
A foreign king dies
A man who never called you
Never spoke your name
In fondness or fury
He does not die at the hands
Of the man you’ve been watching
Since he wailed from the womb
Though he had dreamed
Of circling that throat
There is no rejoicing
No revelry and joy
In a victory that is not
A victory at all
New worlds lay waiting
A forest of chaos where the ground is matted
With the faces of men
Who dared more than they should
But you let this man go forward
Bless him for struggling
To etch his name
On the corner of your world
Your man only knows victories
Has never felt failure
At least in your field
At least in his armor
You watch from your seat
As he scours the earth
Searching for unknown answers
And as he screams his agonies
You can hear the shrieks of his brethren
Who visited you from death years ago
He howls to the heavens
Scratching his cages
Clanging his chains
“My glory!”
He hisses
“The boy steals my glory,
And you know it, you damning tyrant.
He fights, he rides,
He loves his mate,
His other soul,
While I sit here worthless.
He boasts to outdo me
When I slaughtered armies
Far more terrible than the
Pathetic cowards he faces.
My glory, do you hear?
How dare you allow this thievery,
This hideous crime?
A man trying to outshine heroes!
When has this ever been allowed to pass?”
These cries joined the clanging
Of swords against spears
Helmets hitting the dust
As eyes land beside
As men turn their backs
Rally against their private star
As old friends have to be buried
And the new ones are somber
You shake your head at the madness
Of a man who has forgotten
He is still human, too
Or was once
When he cherished his pride
One sunny day
The man you’ve been watching
Guiding and observing
The man who has caused fury
Unleashed envy and buckled down fear
Dies
For once, in your palace
There is sweltering silence
For there was no battle
No death for glory
No spear through the heart
No sarissa through the head
Just a mischievous fever
That tainted his drink
Your son comes forward
Skins in his hand
You wonder if the gesture
So uncommon, so rare
Is from a moment of honor
Or just from the simple heat
That bears down on you all
“He’s dead,”
Your son states
You nod, you sigh
He looks at you
Eyes narrowed and curious
Cautious still to question
“Where shall he go now?”
You throw back your head
And the world trembles at your laughter
For the true query is still there
Buried but not completely
A small sliver
Begging to be watered
You lift your hand
An eagle soars
The lightning is released
Streaking along the plain
While thunder rumbles his
Accompanying war song
There is your answer
And your son smiles
If a God and a Man are One and the Same
You look down
Blinding, bright down
Where you command the light
That golden, glorious fool
To sparkle in splendor
To squash the surreptitious shadows
Under a chariot
That happily killed a son
The world does not change often
Youthful years pass
Elderly eons rot after
But the people still cry
Moan and tear out their grown hair
For pity and sacrifice
Still devour meat and blood
Still dance in pleasure around fires
To claim all for you
Today she trembles
Her mountains quake with
Ferocious fear and
Terrible trepidation
With striking awe and
Undeniable jealousy
With incredible love
As you order the sun to fly
And the boy wails for the first time
Beautiful brothers and siren-like sisters
Darling daughters and shining sons
And volatile wives
Gather and gasp and grumble
As tiny eyes open
Small fingers join in
Waiting
They suffocate and shout
Begging and groveling
Needling and bribing
Demanding and cajoling
For the truth of this boy
And the world’s fate
The child grows
Body swift like the flowing rivers
Mind sharper than lightning’s path
Face forever a child’s
Demanding untold satisfaction
Eyes too haunting
Too needy, too knowing
Too proud, too purposeful
To hide among men
He comes to visit you
The hero turned spirit
The ghost, then warrior
Who would now trade anything
To have had
Quite simply
Sandals that covered the heel
He scrambles slowly
Shaking off Death’s hold
Though only for a meek moment
Hair shorn short forever
Grief’s mockery
He stands at your side
Where you do your waiting and watching
No longer golden
Except in his memories
He asks,
“Is it true?”
And you look down
At the almost man
Who at the meaningful moment
Has riding reins in hand
Proving the world his worth
“He is of your blood, you know,”
You mention
And he nods his neck
Still stiff with the climb
His gaze is guarded
Sorrow shifts at your soul’s edges
At how imploringly empty
His hands look
Without spear and shield
Dark eyes darken and raise righteously
“But is he of yours?”
You smile and shrug
The storms shudder
Your brother approaches
To bring back his prisoner
A while later
Battles bloom
War coats the warm air
With the faint taste of terror
The acrid aroma of anger
The promise of prestige
The last is the strongest
Heavy and heavenly heady
The boy is close to a man
He drinks it in, devours it
He sifts through it in his dreams
Under his pillow, it whispers
Encourages in his ears
Another comes for a talk
A glittering demigod
Bronze fur lining his shoulders
The white teeth grazing his forehead
Blind eyes above his own
Your son comes
You both look down and watch
It is not long ‘til he questions
“And whose son is he?”
You laugh
And the clouds break
Thunder raging with your permission
Refreshing rain falling
Painting the dry ground
Changing and shaping it
To its cool desires
“Does it matter?”
You inquire with evasiveness
Calculated and pristine
Cool like polished silver
The lion’s white eyes lower
As the other thinks
Ponders and prods
At the thoughts he is thinking
Eventually he says,
“Man cannot aspire to these heights.
It is blasphemy for such to be so.
Yet he is unpunished
For his pride and pomp.
He assumes much, too much,
If the rumors are not real,
And he is just a man,
While still son of a king.”
Thus his wise words
You heard them
You knew them
You smiled at them
Placed an arm on broad shoulders
Brought him close
“Watch his will.
Feel his fate.”
Seconds slithered by
“Is he my son?”
Skin splits below
Men bathe in blood
Another of your blasted sons
Dances and delights
In the murder and mayhem
Your temper is terrible
And your cuff sends him sprawling
His companions crawl
On wretched knees for forgiveness
You turn away
Bored with the spectacle
The boy is a man now
Sure and strong
Powerful and with great purpose
The greatest warrior
The most brilliant mind in war
The bravest soldier
The most foolish dreamer
A killer of men
A lover of glory
A leader
Cities crumble
The polis falls to pieces
The phalanx marches
Under the crunching of old bones
You step down from your throne
Your palace protected
By sweet, swirling clouds
The cave welcomes you
Though Death itches your skin
The monsters let you pass
Whimpering at your face
The boat keeper, the guard
Rows faster than ever
Churning the foggy water
Clouded with lost souls
You travel through the rooms
Marked by sorrow
Faintly and clumsily connected
By high hallways of passing honor
You find your man
Huddled in the corner of such
Bitter but not broken
Head empty without golden leaves
Without the physical mark
Of a great general
He watches your approach
With a single dull eye
Still haunted by humanity
Still remembering skin and
The wonders of war
There is no respect
No admiration or adoration
As he opens wide,
“Was he ever my son at all?”
You take in his messy mane
His untrimmed beard
His torn and ripped robes
You think of the man
Conquering nations
“Depends on what you mean
When you call a man ‘Son.’”
A foreign king dies
A man who never called you
Never spoke your name
In fondness or fury
He does not die at the hands
Of the man you’ve been watching
Since he wailed from the womb
Though he had dreamed
Of circling that throat
There is no rejoicing
No revelry and joy
In a victory that is not
A victory at all
New worlds lay waiting
A forest of chaos where the ground is matted
With the faces of men
Who dared more than they should
But you let this man go forward
Bless him for struggling
To etch his name
On the corner of your world
Your man only knows victories
Has never felt failure
At least in your field
At least in his armor
You watch from your seat
As he scours the earth
Searching for unknown answers
And as he screams his agonies
You can hear the shrieks of his brethren
Who visited you from death years ago
He howls to the heavens
Scratching his cages
Clanging his chains
“My glory!”
He hisses
“The boy steals my glory,
And you know it, you damning tyrant.
He fights, he rides,
He loves his mate,
His other soul,
While I sit here worthless.
He boasts to outdo me
When I slaughtered armies
Far more terrible than the
Pathetic cowards he faces.
My glory, do you hear?
How dare you allow this thievery,
This hideous crime?
A man trying to outshine heroes!
When has this ever been allowed to pass?”
These cries joined the clanging
Of swords against spears
Helmets hitting the dust
As eyes land beside
As men turn their backs
Rally against their private star
As old friends have to be buried
And the new ones are somber
You shake your head at the madness
Of a man who has forgotten
He is still human, too
Or was once
When he cherished his pride
One sunny day
The man you’ve been watching
Guiding and observing
The man who has caused fury
Unleashed envy and buckled down fear
Dies
For once, in your palace
There is sweltering silence
For there was no battle
No death for glory
No spear through the heart
No sarissa through the head
Just a mischievous fever
That tainted his drink
Your son comes forward
Skins in his hand
You wonder if the gesture
So uncommon, so rare
Is from a moment of honor
Or just from the simple heat
That bears down on you all
“He’s dead,”
Your son states
You nod, you sigh
He looks at you
Eyes narrowed and curious
Cautious still to question
“Where shall he go now?”
You throw back your head
And the world trembles at your laughter
For the true query is still there
Buried but not completely
A small sliver
Begging to be watered
You lift your hand
An eagle soars
The lightning is released
Streaking along the plain
While thunder rumbles his
Accompanying war song
There is your answer
And your son smiles