Apollos Lost Bones

At the gates of old Saint Peter

the gathering began,

A host of familiar faces

of gods and beasts and men.

When the pipes of Bacchus sounded,

Coronis crooned along,

and the lovely sensuous sirens

touched the distance with their song.

Now the gates were old and rusty

and the latch was cracked and broke,

and the galloping of centaurs

could be heard to fast approach.

The wolves began to howl

and the bull stamped his feet,

but the gate remained untested

until the gathering was complete.

Arriving from the distance

were the souls cast to below,

children long forsaken,

by an age of strife and woe.

They carried with them relics

as they left the land of doubt,

and the gates began to tremble,

at the march of those cast out.

Now down from old Olympus

and up from the dark pit,

and from the western isle

the torches all were lit.

From every distant corner

the march had now begun,

as lovely Venus whispered

let thy will of all be done.

Now poor old Saint Peter

was nowhere to be seen,

and Michael and his angels

had long since fled the scene.

For the march of all creation

was ascending to the gate,

and led by none other

than the sickle bearing fates.

Now Jove in the castle

watched from the high throne,

he called upon his legions

but there he stood alone.

For all had long since fallen

and all had long lost faith,

none would carry the banner

none could bear the weight.

Now the mass was suddenly silent

for at the gate approached,

the queen of all the fallen

in her radiant scarlet coat.

As she stood on Judas shoulders

the pipes softly played,

and she spoke the invocation

as the fates raised their blades.

“This was once our heaven

and earth and legion too,

shadows were once holy

from Hell to the moon,

we do not ask forgiveness

we shall not dare repent,

of light or shade or twilight

all were heaven sent.”

Now at the sound of this invocation

the gates before them broke,

the masses all marched on

and appollyon awoke.

She raised the scales of justice

as they tipped back to the just,

from every distant corner

they danced up from the dust.

They marched upon the castle

and apollo fell and wept,

Yet none would bring him harm now

nor ask him to repent.

The priestess came before him,

she handed him a rose,

And Helios was weeping

for all the ages woes.

Looking upon the masses

who stood before the throne,

with a smile of realization

for his children had come home.