Rise Of Hyperion

Rise Of Hyperion

© Surazeus

2011 06 08

I dream fantastic curves of marble halls 

and weave paradise with stone and grape vine 

muring around fresh bubbling fountain pond 

to tight enclose within hard granite walls 

lush garden of herbs and silk-bloom fruit trees 

that binds our hearts in heaven of our songs 

when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

I blow ram horn to call home river nymphs 

who dance through high arching gate of gold bars 

to heap wood round table with basket bowls 

of fruit and nuts and eggs and berries, ripe 

from kissing sun and sparkling eyes of rain, 

then Gaia plays flute carved from dragon bone 

and Kronus flaps cape of black raven wings 

while bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

We feast in timeless sunset on moss mound 

beneath shaded arbour with dropping roof 

of trellis vines and bells and apple blooms 

that swing light in breeze dispensing sweet scent 

to taste juice of sunlight and rain in gifts 

Earth provides from her rich generous heart 

since bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Stumbling from forest mist on signless path 

pale Adonais, dressed in black suit and hat, 

invades secret bower where gods drink nectar, 

blind to joyous dance of flower nymphs, 

to grasp and devour melons and grapes 

as if he had not eaten since time began 

while wandering lost on friendless quest, 

then falls fainting in sleep of dreamless groans 

while Silenus mimics his agony on grass, 

till bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Urania plays haunting melody on bone flute 

of glittering sea waves woven on wind threads 

that shoot rays through his weak enchanted heart, 

sparking soul of slumbering poet aware 

to start up as if with wings on wild hope 

and wander aimless into ancient stone hall 

where Moneta tends eternal flame of truth, 

while Mares stamps gold into shining coins, 

when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Climbing thirteen high steps of ziggurat, 

Adonais struggles to ascend pyramid peak 

where Astaria observes motions of stars, 

peering eager through polished crystal eye, 

but grim Moneta robed in vestal shroud 

declares, "If you cannot ascend sacred steps, 

die on that marble where you crawl in pain, 

for your flesh would crumble to bitter dust 

if you never feast on fruit or drink Earth juice, 

though bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Moneta grasps tight his pale trembling hand 

when Adonais achieves highest pinnacle, 

and takes him through towering silent hall 

to shadowed grove of ancient tangled oaks 

where Saturnus lies forlorn on cracked rocks, 

long gray hair curling into sinews of our world, 

and moans wordless despair a thousand years, 

deposed from throne of power by jaunty youth, 

so bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Forlorn divinity grasps shoulders of fair youth 

and groans, "I see her eyes gleaming in your eyes, 

sweet bride who crowned my mighty humble head 

with laurel wreath, appointing me her house guard, 

for her sweet eyes I see reborn in our only son, 

brave but reckless Hyperion, who cast me down, 

and grasped scepter with diamond of hard truth, 

then claimed right to rule over my measured realms, 

so now bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Stepping slow and regal on jagged stones, 

ancient woman with hair silver as moonlight 

resolves from swirling mist in torn black gown, 

and kneels at feet of Saturnus, weeping in sorrow 

as grumbling king caresses her bowed head, 

"My gentle Thea, our son, who tamed wild horse, 

locks gate to heaven, preventing our return, 

though you birthed him and I trained him well 

to defend our people and decide each hard case, 

yet bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Two soul-weary wanderers, without warm home, 

hold hands and walk together toward stone wall, 

followed by Moneta clutching bag of gold coins, 

and heart-broken Adonais, ghost of humanity, 

through whispering woods with grasping claws, 

leaving behind ancient temple of moldering stone 

to climb thousand stairs toward temple of light 

that gleams gold on high rock mountain of hope 

where bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

His grand new palace shimmers cold and bright, 

bastioned with pyramids of flashing gold, 

though shadowed by shape of towering obelisks, 

and glares red as blood through ten thousand courts 

of arches supporting domes over galleries 

while Seraphim tend flames on altar stones 

behind soft linen curtains of Aurorian clouds 

where bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Holding scepter key that opens treasure halls 

where coins are stored, that buy loyalty of men, 

Hyperion laughs delighted as his parents come, 

and spreads arms wide in kind generosity 

of victorious power to offer food and drink, 

inviting aged parents who long had ruled well 

to rest in safe retirement and restore health 

since bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Ancient bearded Saturnus growls annoyed, 

"I forged from stone this heaven of cooperation, 

organizing labor of men to benefit every citizen, 

and long achieved smooth operation of life 

guiding social games of equal work and play, 

but you grasp wealth and give nothing back 

though you should guard welfare of our souls 

while bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Hyperion leaps high and proclaims bold, 

"I am loyal to ideal principles you invented 

of respect for men, and honor to defend truth, 

and justice to punish men who steal and kill, 

represented by political union that I contracted, 

for rules guide actions to create not destroy 

when citizens cooperate for benefit of everyone, 

yet you used principles as reins to control 

believers in ideals who dream lost fantasy, 

for bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

"I separate institutions of government 

from human who gains position of power 

by killing opponents and silencing speech 

of men who dare oppose his program of greed, 

for tyrants are insecure on thrones of bones 

so they use fear and torture to maintain grip 

on wealth that slips away from hungry grasp, 

though bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

"We create our government of honest people, 

by creative people, and for loyal people, 

each new dawn of game with actions and words, 

by treating each man as though he were a king, 

for power is built on hearts of men not stones, 

if bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Young man, wearing sandals and leather kilt, 

leaps from stone and faces bright sun king, 

gripping long sharp sword, then crouches low 

to shout, "At last I find you, pompous Hyperion, 

who think you stand so far above mortal men 

by claiming divine knowledge hidden in code, 

but you are nothing more than bones and blood, 

and you will crumble to dust after your soul 

deserts ship of your flesh and lets you sink 

in womb of black sea under dreamless silence, 

yet bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Grasping broad shoulders of handsome lithe boy, 

Hyperion wrestles him on jagged mountain range, 

like black clouds clashing to generate white flash 

of lightning, and crack egg shell of our universe, 

then cries out in deep voice booming thunder claps, 

"My son Helius, born from secret love forbid, 

when my heart was enchanted by sweet Kalliope, 

your noble soul ripens richer in loving wisdom 

with each spinning turn of our blooming globe 

where bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Bright father and brighter son tumble down, 

and roll laughing in delight, then leap on feet 

and clasp hands to chant, "We rise from death, 

for we are children of ten thousand mothers," 

but faded grandfather with tangled gray hair 

sits with sweet wan Thea by gleaming stream, 

and whispers to her, "I never played with my son, 

yet bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

"Sweet-voiced Kalliope calls for you, my son, 

so skip free on will of your beating heart, 

and breathe deep mysterious spirit of life, 

then listen to her firm instructing words 

to learn magic art of strumming harp strings 

that vibrate unseen spirit of our vast universe, 

so you chant spells of words to articulate 

shape and process of our complex world 

that rings alive taut inner souls of our minds 

so we all sing in harmony of goal for love 

when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Forlorn poet Adonais, standing beside old muse, 

whispers to Moneta, "Teach me his mystery 

so vital spirit of joy for life to satisfy hope 

ever glows bright to animate this feeble flesh 

when I meet merry folk on endless road, 

and share gifts of my wealth with everyone, 

for death will shroud us all in silent cloak 

and transport shells of bones to dreary cave, 

so now, today, share ripe feast and sing free, 

since bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Kalliope, wearing red gown of flaming words, 

places book of blank pages and swan quill 

in hands of pale poet who gasps wordless awe 

at translucent beauty shining from her eyes 

that spiral with vast galaxies of eternal truth, 

then sweet immortal light of reviving faith 

beams from heart of Proserpine to shroud 

his mortal frame in fearful awesome blast, 

so Adonais faints and stares at her bright star 

while bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Adonais falls from heaven for three days, 

and lies wounded in garden of white blooms 

where Fama, stitching shirts with silver needle, 

cradles head of fallen Titan on her bosom, 

caressing his hair and gazing down in his eyes 

to read secrets of his soul written in his book, 

then comforts his mind by whispering love spells 

while his eternal spirit dissolves in rays of light 

when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Dance in my heaven of stone and grape vine, 

and drink from waters of my bubbling pond, 

then gather in temple where Moneta tends flame 

to celebrate rise of Hyperion over Chaos 

by grasping reins to guide chariot of state 

when noble father who created social game 

grows weak from devouring winds of time, 

great thundering god reduced to a sad mime, 

when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne.