Wherein Home is the Olympus...

Wherein Home is the Olympus of our Youth

When I enter this hall full of marvelous stones,
In their faces taste hist’ry, by scent hear the songs
Of a civilization, an altar that flaunts
All the gods of a young man: the statues of nonce,

I will first light a candle and offer a toast,
To the adamant beauty of petrified ghosts;
Close my eyes and be indwelt by glories of old
And defer to consider how now I’m made bold

By tyrannical pow’rs; they’d decline to me grant
Even slightest regard, till the day I would chant
Disingenuous songs in a chorus of farce
While I polished their spears in the temple of Mars.

Then I look on the Gorgons, not yet aged a day,
Though their creased, lithic faces show frightful decay;
Are they tame or more foul, ancient beasts of the Pit,
Since with thunder they fell and the epic was writ?

And the myriad pantheon mock with their frowns
Any life of a man who would doubt their renown
Then I shield my eyes and I grasp for the might
And the words that I hope can resolve this man’s plight:

“You are dead, on my life!”, on my life, I exclaim
As I answer my query and deem the crones tame.
“Mighty Zeus, why so proud?”, as he looks down on me,
Yet with fear in my voice, I declare myself free!

So these idols of yore, still their faces the same
Stare thus forth, idly pond’ring this thing I proclaim.
And I refill my glass and I once again toast
To the beauty, not power, of petrified ghosts.