Bladed Spear (7th_chord) wrote in image_of_god,
Bladed Spear
7th_chord
image_of_god

  As a demonstration of competence, here's a rhyme from the story-book I'm going to publish.

 
The Hymn of Apollo
 
Blond chariot canters, ‘cross the heathen sky,
Loxian Apollo, thunders silent by.
Axles burning gold, with liquid fires oiled,
Grinding the great wheels, his four Sun Bulls toiled.
 
Striding ‘cross the aeons calm, the god who never prayed
Blinked to see a blinding sight, and overhead he stayed.
 
Up on that hill, across the Devil’s Plain,
Stood all Israel the Legacy of Cain.
Teachers, Seers, the Judges and the Preachers,
While wept All, and every human creature.
 
Who dared curse Divinities, or take Their names in vain?
Yet God was sold for silver, and danced they on His pain.
 
Fearful grim lines taut, he drew him his bow,
He would smite them, but then the Christ said “no.”
“They know nothing, naught of what they do,”
“Father forgive them; White Aeos, so do you.”
 
Sun-bolts in quivers shaken, with strength to break his bow,
Apollo pleaded Jesus, to move Him with a vow.
 
“Christ, bid: let Apollo be Apollyon:
Forth, plagues of light! To crush this Babylon!” 
Though blood quite lost, shook the Christ His head,
Till it was finished: till He Himself hung dead.
 
Sorrowed, his heart impaled, the great god Sol as woman wailed.
Broke he him his halo’d crown, rent his raiment, cast it down.
 
“Shah mat! Shah mat!” so wept the white god Sol,
And mourned the Prince, who did for Sinners fall:
God-wounded-mortal, body’s blood bled red-
“Alas, my King! The Holy One is Dead!”
 
And naked Sol refused to shine; Dark Dian hid his shame,
With night’s dark cloak covered him, to spare his godly name.
 
Said the fair goddess, “brother, do not cry,”
“Lest the mortals see; all godhood they’d deny.
“Come, be cheered, and raise your bow to fire.
“Blaze my brother, and show a true god’s ire!”
 
And he told her why, exactly so, he could not do,
Then she understood him, and the Night was silent too.
 
But three days thence raised up, from three days’ tomb,
Stepped forth Lord Jesus, from Death’s immortal womb.
Nox saw Him first; fleeting called her brother,
Came Easter dawn, twins alike each other.
 
They raced so fast, with godlike speed, flying twin arrows,
Each hand in hand, a saraband, dancing with twin bows.
 
Embrace Him did like children they,
With laugher rolled the stone away.
To the manger was the cave:
Lowly birth to joyous grave.
 
So this hymn-song does Phoebus sing,
With Dian’s dance and young lute string:
“What import’s self, or any thing,
“In sight of Christ, mine True Born King?”

Poetic thingimijiggies include the following: Heroic Verse (iambic penta cadence plus a caesura, a pause, in the middle), mutant couplets of 13 syllables, and 2 iambic octametric stanzas.
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