Myths Of Old

by ianblackpoet

We sought the darkened corners of the world
Enraptured by a lust that never dies,
With destinies of glory to unfurl
And monsters to be slain before our eyes;
What kingdoms sunken in the mire of time
Or heathen arts to history resigned,
What tomes of magic lay in foreign climes
Unthinkable to those we left behind;
Aspiring to the feats of ancient lore,
A common heart was blessed to beat with pride –
The sea of dreams lay open to explore
For those who venture courage on the tide.

And what have we to equal such a faith
When all we deign to contemplate is known –
Existing in the shadow of the wraith
Without a fleeting spark of wonder shown;
Our gods and monsters slaughtered long ago,
Their mystery and might explained away –
Too jaded now to let our vision grow
Beyond the shackles of the everyday;
And bolstered by the bleating of our peers,
We sneer at those who still revere the dawn –
An age of man without ambition nears,
For all that’s sacred and profane is gone.

The moat of souls encircles not the house
Of god, but flows into oblivion –
And I proclaim the tales we once espoused
Are proof of miracles beneath the sun;
There is divinity on earth, without
A call to prayer or sacrifice of blood –
A glimpse of paradise defying doubt
As veins of silver gleaming in the mud;
I may believe in nothing, but I yearn
To revel in a wondrous story told –
Alive with tears of joy as cynics learn
That there is beauty in the myths of old.