We have heard the ancient stories
the pantheon of Greek and Roman tales
telling of a mythic, mischievous world
that existed once upon a time:
Epic dramas of men and women,
strange creatures who roamed
the old world; wild gods who created,
destroyed, interceded, interfered.

We do not recognize them –
neither the creatures nor their gods
the meaning they held, the comfort
they gave, the terror they wrought.
They are lost to us, wrapped in marble,
versed in crumbling pages
telling of peoples – aliens and strangers –
and time – forgotten and obscure –
we no longer remember or understand.

The truths they told about life and death,
love and loss, victory and defeat
are buried, hidden beneath thick shrouds
meant for the dead and the past.
Let them lie moldering where once they lived.
Other tales are forming now, being born
from the womb of our own terrors and demons
our deepest hopes, our indwelling strengths.

What will our ancestors hear told of our days
when a thousand years have passed and we,
long gone and our shriveling days are forgotten?
What, within the epic myths we created,
wrote down in verse, recorded in song
will they read and remember, sing and dance?

That the world may then be a place to spend the glory,
days under a healing and benevolent sun,
a story must emerge from our small lives
of great beings and supernatural events
that changed the careening world’s course,
renewed the common will to achieve marvels
that will be, for our distant and beloved kin,
the stuff of heartrending drama.
May the lyric words, sublime, filled with meaning,
tell in gratitude how the unknown gods
came to us, inspired wisdom and courage,
drove us to compassion and mercy’s might,
willed us to create verse, song, dance, works of art
all telling the glory of their ancient past
ringing clarion the sublime essence of our days.

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Portland, Oregon – August 1, 2021