Eros the Eror Jan 11, 2005

The gods who will him gone:
Such beauty in a face as young as his must be destructive for the world.
Like an enigmatic terror, he who holds hearts, holds them tightly and winds the collective energy of the universe like a coiled snake into constant readiness.
If his will were not as relentless as the sea he might have been a different child.
Had his whims not forged the formation of all being, he might have been loved forever.
He is the creator and destroyer of souls with his magic,
His playfulness twisted like the cobbles roads of Mesara.

How the will of the gods made it so:
In the heavens, it had come to their notice
That Eros (the god of love) was behind the criminal deeds of deities.
No one suspected such an innocent (if they only knew his true age and form)
But they had no premonition he was so wild and unwilling to tarry
Cause sin by the sinless and infidelity by the married.

Henceforth, Eros was barred from this galaxy for his trickery and
Twelve soldiers of the most high came down upon him, to send him on his way.
In ether-controlling shackles, they held him fast, Dove into Poseidon’s realm and descended
Far beyond the River Styx into a cove under the mountains of the Atlantic.
Underwater caves lined with every precious stone seemed to pass them,
His sentence was approaching, this he could not deny.

They emerged dry as weathered bone into the hidden temple,
Enclosed in the rocky bowels of Tellus.
The soldiers pushed him through glowing corridors
Where songs of mushrooms rang in a distant whispered cadence.
It seemed their journey would never end…

In the darkness ahead was a pinprick light
Where he would find his sentence.
Pushed headlong into the pool of dusky water, where and when unknown,
Except far away, through the portal, damned by his intrinsic will,
And the gods unaware, that his damnation would lead to waning belief in them.

It is not the first time Eros has left us:
When his Psyche ruled him, he had no sense of time, tasted honey,
Sped for the moon and beyond its beaming light,
Never lit the candles to end the drinking of his own sweet vintage.
That was a period of despair and despotism,
Sacrificial burning of children and the torture of elderly kings.
Men of all beings should know the power of his reputation.
His ability to transform all reason and alter perception,
Cause ships to sail a treacherous course for what should be a long forgotten lover. These are but a few paradigms.
The Ilium walls and Achaeans can attest to his influence,
And the lands where blood seeps deeper to the core of Gaia with each rotation of the sun Have become vampiric, fueled by the centripetal force of his light hand of heavy mischief.

Oh! But he is missed by the children of the gods and their children’s children--
They have all wept enough seawater to build an un-chartable sea.
They say:
“Return you baleful beauty and turn on your clock, wind it with an iron fist. Realize your aimless wandering soul has a tryst with all which your sister Phusis knows.
We beg you, lull your brother Chaos to dream, redirect his ignorant eye to another infinite direction, and into a clear eye, which for eons will be focused on other realms of this boundless kingdom.”