Penultimate reach of natural churning,
Zenith of fumes of incense burning,
Creative nature’s vector’s target,
Sown wisdom’s everlasting market!
No, not the springing source -
Tis the end of every rivulets course.
In this no question goes unanswered,
Nor no Capricorn without its Cancer
Vacuums of particular abhorrence,
Must be filled by massive torrents,
And each imbalance shall be satisfied
Before Demeter’s wrath is pacified.
Thus in the Olympian sphere Jove did decree
Apollo to produce a good facsimile
And give proof of pre-historic man.
Yet interfered capricious Pan
And swapped the artwork while he lulled
For an ape jaw and a human skull
The mirthful gods saw no harm in the least
Though greatly shamed was their priest,
The tenets of their faith remained,
Whole, unshaken, unblemished, unstained.
“Another chimera shall we assemble,
A better caprice to make men tremble?”
Eros took the whimsical progeny
of feminism with misogyny,
And fielded a cynocryptic hound,
Three missteps before each bound,
Ears pinned back its tail chased
and thrice looped a circumferential race.
Maw opened wide and swallowed complete
legs, hind quarters and fore feet.
And so intoxicated it became,
In believing both and doubting same,
That driven on by the scent of truth
It did not stop till tooth ate tooth.
The gods delighted in this sport,
Therefore ordained more be of this sort.
A nation of thinkers all of a mind,
And with them tools to serve their kind,
Not with wisdom but to engender,
The world-mockery of their senders.
And these fools were all of noble bent,
Considered themselves quite excellent,
The sort to govern and to judge,
the commoners they sat above.
“Men are straw, but not are we,
We are the necessary end of history.”
“Just wait, a new feast we will bring,
And blunt the pain of death’s sting.”
Within the wombs they began to sow,
The rank seeds of their own overthrow,
Each neglected seed would produce,
Rancid living animals from its fruits.
And what ghastly creatures of their nightmare pride,
Stalk this world! Each ghoul seeks bride,
And with her plans a more noxious lot,
Of similarly composed rot.
Oh how the hungry miscreants,
Pour forth from the infernal vents!
The beauty of a thousand generations,
Washed away by their philanthropic oblations
And each with ravenous unquenchable lust,
Consumes its kindred and thinks it just.
While from above descends the laughter,
Of our playful gods hereafter.