Page: Profile: Poetry
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VxPoem ID: 42166
Posted: February 24th. 2012 12:33:56 PM
I Can't the New Stories
Age Group: Adult
Four rotund pillars, ornate and lovely, uphold a magnificent statue.
Half crumbled with age and antiquity, nearly naked draped with cloth.
It stands majestically, chiseled body depicting perfection and strength.
It overlooks the glassy sea and passers-by gaze upon it in awe.
Once honored and revered by ancient civilizations, strategically placed with love,
It now stands alone amongst the rubble and ruins. Nearly drained of its original meaning.
A great god, worshipped and feared, beloved and celebrated. He was wonderful!
Festivals marked the calendar in his name, and temples were erected for all to enjoy.
The people were fiercely proud of their god, bold and powerful. He was one of many.
The ancient stories explaining his love, wisdom and control are replete with splendor.
Offering fruits and incenses and prized possessions in hopes for something in return.
He was a hero, a giver, a healer. He was human-like with needs. He was immortal.
All of that energy sent out into the universe by thousands of people in his name was magical.
That energy still exists and can be tapped into. Over many years, renamed by new emperors and
new civilizations. He changed and took on new roles and characteristics as needed.
Eventually, he was crushed by a new religion. A new god. A new way to control the masses.
Stripped down, reduced, punished and chastised, the simple country people converted.
They did not want to, but what choice was there? Thousands of years of nature worship gone.
Practice the old ways in secret. Under the cloak of darkness in secret meeting places.
New churches build atop the old temples. Renamed to honor not gods and goddesses, but saints.
Statues were painted to look like the characters in the new stories. Names were changed, and
pagan festivals were converted into new ones. Over time the new religion grew and prospered.
It unified empires and slowly drove the old religion into the shadows.
Old stories made into new ones. Made up ones, myths. Constructed to give the powerful more
power. Laws and codes to control the people. Simple, happy and free people who celebrated life,
seasons and nature where transformed into the property of others and made to believe in new
stories. Stories that are made up of old religions, invented, codes and laws pieced together.
Stories that restrain, put down, quell individuality and impede growth. Stories too wild to be true.
I sit and stare in wonder at the old majestic statue, of the beautiful god’s body.
I can’t help but wonder what the world would be like had he not been replaced by new stories.
Had they all remained gods and goddesses, what? I imagine what it would have been like
to have lived life freely, simply and to have an entire society accept and be accepted.
To be in tune with nature, the earth, the environment. To live more simply.
Then I glance over to the church and wonder how I can anymore. The new stories don’t work.
Author's Location: Surprise, Arizona
More Poems: Taliesin has posted 4 additional poems- View them?
Author's Profile: To learn more about Taliesin - Click HERE
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