Thursday, May 28, 2009

Old Days - Old Friends

Welcome to Life's Greatest Beach
Walkin' in Waikiki

"Vice is most dangerous when it puts on the garb of virtue."

Danish Proverb

Nephew & Niece

"It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are 20 gods, or no god. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg."

Thomas Jefferson

Shadow Spiders!

"People only see what they are prepared to see."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

It was normal to us.

Just the way we grew up.

From my earliest days, the world seemed like a place full of friends.
In the fields and woods, the naiads, nymphs, and who-ziss watched us play.

It made me feel safe to know that they were there.

And when we ran back home
the gate god welcomed us;

But kept the wandering hungers outside.

The kitchen god warmed us.
Seemed always so happy to see us,

even when we young neglected

to smear honey
on her mouths.

When we were sick, mama gave us little goddesses to chase the fevers away;
They cuddled in our arms,
and the fairies living in the wreathe above my bed

whispered songs and stories,

watching as I slept.

Then one day they came.

They spoke of love

but with stern faces.

Things we could not see,
or feel,
were the only things that pleased them.

Our simple songs
made them angry.

Our harmless,

helpful little gods
they treated worse than vermin.

I don't think they liked us very much either,

though they claimed to bring us a gift
from a god.

The way we have always been,

the things that brought us joy

and comfort-
they told us these were
all bad things.

That WE were bad,
but they could make us clean.

I didn't understand.

"Good," they said.
"God's ways are not your ways."

Every pleasant thing they changed.
For our good we must look sad,
and keep quiet now.

But how I miss the singing in the moonlight.
How we all felt one in our song.

And the faces,
friendly, watching over,
are all gone now.

They used to keep
the dreadful and implacable away.
We didn't know then
that it was the
Judgement of God.

So we live with the dread,
the fear,
that they they tell us
is just the beginning
of their wisdom.

But I long to be evil again;
How I miss my friends
the little gods.

Our house,
our village,
feels so empty

Now that we serve big God
so far away in the sky.
Why does he watch us so harshly?
I miss my ancient
A l o h a! Cloudia