The Scorn of Homer.

Overhead the Gods stood, Lords of the dead, the living dead, the undead,
the unborn, the reborn, all of mortal man & his woman.

The Gods had Bedlam for dinner at the Pantheon, they played
at dice & lost their thrones, they bought & sold each others homes & names.

Cattle fen raider clans that traded as well, their babes & women.

Until being all met at the great conference The Althing
they spoke again their names from the ancient runes being certain
of incarnation, but the joke was on them, there was nobody there
to bluff, they were the buffoons, the jokers, the cards, stakeholders & shares.

And they stood overhead, lords of the dead, the living dead, the undead,
the unborn, the reborn, all of mortal man & his woman.

Their kingdoms have gone, their kingdoms come, pirates are trespassers.

There has arisen one voice that speaks for everyone in the Name
of the Face that by not even the Son of Man can be seen.

In the Name of the One whose Name cannot be uttered, a Name
so secret written it cannot be let out but consumes all
other names to nothingness, so it is now & evermore will be.

But even until the last Trojan of Aenid, of Albion,
my mark will be upon them: Troy has fallen for no other
cause than prophecy when Cassandra´s oracle were overthrown.

Copyright Robin Ouzman Hislop 2003
All rights reserved.