They shout for history; I calmly reply, ‘Mystery.’
‘Superstition!’ they yell. ‘No, mystic suspension.’
‘Science, only science!’ Only reliance on ignorance.
‘Crude! Lewd!” they accuse. ‘No, sharp and shrewd.’
Listen. Moros has haunted me from birth, taunted me with mirth denied;
Moros, son of Erebus and Nyx, picks his victims for gloom and doom,
And ne’er has darker god been born, torn from the bowels of the blight
Of night, and his great weapon is repression by way of heavy depression
In succession of days that sway his victims ere closer to concession
Of breath of life so wrought with draining-pain, driving them insane…
There is one who fights such blight; nemesis of Moros: Selfless Elpis.
She is the song God sends to be sung in the long hour of dour assault
By Moros who would suppose you to be weak and ripe for the picking,
Licking his lips in unhallowed anticipation of the steal of soul meal;
But then comes Elpis, no worse the curse than he himself is to you;
And has not God given her such powerful voice to sing in radiant joy,
To bring bright hope, light laughter to slaughter repressive, depressive
Attacks with brutal cracks of Morosian whip? And does brave Elpis slip?
‘You can’t put it under microscope!’ they persist to insist.
‘And you have no love, charity, and give no scope to hope.’
‘Reckless! Dangerous!’ they charge as they lurch and scourge.
‘No, denial is your burial, and your world is dying for lying.’
Moros returns again and again, and plagues me with vague visions
Of derision, division, constant indecision; no worth for my birth;
And my body curls in the corner as he hurls his spears so drear;
In fetal position I condition myself for next wave of violation,
But she comes once again to undermine the swine with fine beauty
And heavenly wine freely poured, ere for him love’s eternal brine.
Elpis smiles overpowering the towering god of hate, ne’er to satiate.
Morning comes with mourning sometimes, forewarning another scorning
Of Moros; Ah! but there is hope now with hope, with selfless Elpis
So sweet and upbeat; her weapons are not sharpened blades, charades
Of fear, or crusades of crude war. No! But cheer, glorious happiness,
Almost ravenous gladness, and always hope — tope of ambrosia —
To cope with dæmonic mobsters and bleak monsters that loudly shriek
Inside my head, mostly in bed, when for the day all is done and said.
And why not feel happy, rather than crappy and snappy? And with flow
of heavenly grace freely poured from vase of cosmic Spirit to stay toxic
Run of rancid thoughts and feelings pealing away all good and healthy —
Moros is stealthy — why snub cup freely offered with fine red wine
That will scrub away dross, wash out poison, silence noisome voices
Of accusation, degradation, and desolation? When Elpis sings and brings
Across the way cross of renewal to drive and stay on mount of your heart?
Monism, dualism, trialism and pluralism — all ‘isms’ for schisms,
But big brains heading for mental train wreck see only the seeable;
Philosophers so arrogant with apparent knowledge have blade in hand
Ready to aid Moros in killing willing students so numb and so dumb.
Moros they don’t see — he hides in shade of the blade — they bleed
Instead their delicatessen of putrid lessons, all to disarm and harm
Young and innocent with dissonant lectures and conjectures so proudly
Given by professors who’ve bowed to idols of straw with tooth and claw.
But do we have to bend the knee
To hiss and piss of such degree?
I chose selfless Elpis and spree
Of joy and more than trope of hope.
Note: Image of Moros from www.mcpercyjackson.wikia.com; image of Elpis from http://www.vestahebe.tumblr.com