Posts Tagged ‘poems for the ancients’

Born of the trails in our minds

marking music and time,

the first gods were known

to have perfect camouflage –

they dressed as the wind and the rain

shook the earth, flooded plains

retreated to the stars above

and slowly grew in our dreams.


What happened next

in that darkness

we’ll never know exactly,

but glean from cave walls

and arrow heads, from beads

and bands buried with the dead

that some in the clan

needed magic and preferred

not to be reminded

of their short stay

and had no other way

to learn of the world … yet.


So instead, our animal brains

adopted incense and gemstones

drew symbols as portals

fell in love with the abracadabra

of magical thinking,

started linking mere chance with a meaning,

and passed whatever the leader was dreaming

as a sign from above.


And little by little

these lies kept infecting

everyone everywhere

while promising protection

from the neighboring gods

and the horde from next door,

while delivering nothing more

than a lifetime of prayer

as salvation from boredom.


What a sickness it was.

Like a virus over time

and across space,

leaving no room

for a question that challenged

what little was known of ourselves

and having to face

whatever the gods were pretending

to reveal to the head of the state.


In this way the deluded

were able to steal the time

and the minds and the work

of the people they fooled

with cruel lies as a tool

to build monuments and

monoliths with the money

they took from those who

were not in on the ruse.


‘Til at last the Truth was revealed

(a little at least) by words

that were spoken by those

who wouldn’t be fleeced,

by people who wouldn’t be sheep

who dared to speak back

about what they had seen

and learned of the world

from eyes and ears that were

keener than those who had

hidden themselves in the spell

whose magic no longer worked

to explain any heaven or hell

or anything ever on Earth.


And now, the only gods in good standing

have slipped back into silence

leaving believers nothing but relics

and rituals that belong to an age

before science.


* Title is borrowed from a Richard Dawkins speech

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.


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a poem for the cavemen


Sticks and branches were not enough,

     the big cats and other beasts 

had learned the bluff;

other groups had big sticks, too.

And in their natural state,

     rocks just would not do.

Then like magic,

           the flint breaks away

     and with it some of the darkness

          and the fear.

There was an edge now to our being,

     like new found claws or tiger jaws,

     weapons we learned to hold dear.

From then on rock pounded rock, 

     with a purpose and a plan.

Art was born and moved us along;

     thoughts turned inward now

the birth of man.

The search for god, meaning and a plan.

From the flint was born,

     the bulls at Lascaux, a father for fire,

dreams of angels, fat  man and little boy.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved

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