All gods have a history. How
they were born from the womb of stars.
How they were chained to mountains
with eagles plucking at their hearts.

Where they froze enchanted by the vision
of their own startling beauty in the reflection
of a quiet river.

And then, there are men whose
history was made by stars,
by mountains, by the beauty
of their hearts.

What eagle's fury
picks at their bones?

Where are the rivers
that cast their spells

to capture them?

The garden they began in, their dream
of home, of country, of kingdoms

ancient as mystery.

1 comment:

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

I love the subtle slant rhymes weaving through this.

And most of all I love how the craft is subordinate to the message even whilst supporting it.