Nathrangking

Here is week 6 Poem #6

                                          Epoch of Metamorphosis

Dawn breaks with an explosion of gold and peach woven by the skillful hands of Aurora which fly across her loom. The whole of existence stirs as a seemingly endless celestial contest begins to take shape. Jove upon his throne vies with his brothers for supremacy as Minerva crosses blades with the Avenger. Tremors wrack the earth and every deity gathers their armies to wage war. Faunus and Diana clash spilling nature’s blood and painting the ground with silver. On high the winds burn while Phoebus clashes with Boreas. Cities are trampled and all of civilization is reduced to tattered swathes of a once vibrant tapestry.

Stark beauty glows in the skies as it is carried across the realm upon a most subtle yet mighty chariot. Rebirth of a new day becomes a nightmare birthed by the Bacchnalian curse cast upon Somnus and held firm by the winged deliverers of vengeance. Lightning boils the oceans and creates molten conflagrations in the depths which do nothing to disturb the fury of the wise one and the master of the fields of war. Minor deities quench the thirst of the parched earth with their meaningless sacrifices. Forests from the earliest times are laid bare. Storms of fire scar the very heavens. Prayers so desperate are unanswered by selfish competitors.

Contrast of great beauty marks the very heights and separates it from the destruction consuming the material plane. Horrors driven by the invisible bearers of poisoned blades and whispered judgements exact even from those who rule terrible prices for their failures. Jupiter falls from his gilded seat into the fires and steam below where he rages  and wrestles with the lords that were exiled below beside the carnage that two have wreaked on any who would stand between them. Libations laid out in the most desperate ways spill without even being noticed or considered. Yews by river banks weep and watch their siblings die. Humanity cowers.

The completion of the artwork that stands majestically and yet smudged by the smoke that rises sends forth a  new song. All of the battles instantly start to wither away and somewhere a balanced scale strikes down the nightmare that has broken out. Amidst the muck and mire of their spirits three kings and two bloodied and exhausted warriors are aflame with a shame which before this day they had never imagined that they could know. Spoiled gifts offered now begin to heal sundered places of refuge. The huntress and the wild lord huddle beneath spilled tears. From the rubble mortals build again as noon is born.