Upon Reading Mihangel's Those Old Gods
The old god saw our hearts' desire:
our love, or lust, or art, or dire
deeds done; all known. We had his nod
when we believed, and showed the god
our noble aim. Our only thought,
the honesty of love. We sought
to venerate, and hoped to gain
his approval and acclaim.
But we forgot. An aeon's toll has taken
our knowledge of his ways. We live forsaken.
We are no more protected: we've left
our heritage, and thus bereft
we may no longer call for aid--
until such time as can be paid
an offering where love abounds,
and two united should be found
whose lips and hearts resound above
the name Maponus, god of love.
The sacrifice, though scant, is quite sublime.
Required, but a splash of lovers' wine.
This poem is © 2007 Merkin, to whom comments may be sent.
