The Demiurge

Perplexed by riddles and betrayed by Time, The lonely spirit travels far adrift On the horizon’s dim and distant line, In search of other souls, both strong and swift. From the eternal temple of the gods Come roiling forth three dark and ruthless birds, Which carry in their beaks three magic rods Upon whose sight the dread of men is stirred. The golden rods are dread, despair and death, Which haunt all men throughout their mortal lives, And whose dark curse is borne with every breath By these three harpies rising from their hives. Descending from the heavens they converge While circling round and round the mountain top, Where in the dwindling light the senses merge And even Time itself comes to a stop. The vast expanses of the earth divide And, with loud thunder, fiery lava gushes out While mountains and the seas are torn aside, Allowing clouds of sulphur smoke to spout. The birds of prey unchain the lightning storm Onto the mighty mountain’s snowy side, While from the depths of Hades there takes form A demiurge of human shape and stride. Emboldened by his grip on death and fear, He rises tall, walks forth and calls to fight The ghastly legions of the deep, who cheer As mankind contemplates the growing night. Olympus watches from above, unseen, But worries not, for humans are no match, And Jove’s revenge against all men has been A treasured scheme which, finally, can hatch. The helpless crowd is beaten and dispersed While darkness and despair engulf the scene And servants of the ruthless lord become well versed In hunting men for whom fair Hope is queen. The world is turned into an endless maze Where men are lost and wander all alone While braving hunger, thirst and heavy haze In search of hidden tunnels leading home. They search in vain for what cannot be found, Encouraged by false hope and blinding thought. They rush away, bewildered and unbound Along dim paths where rummage comes to naught. Such was the day when man became a slave To petty strife, to agony and death, The day Olympus sentenced to the grave All those on earth who labor and draw breath. Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com