#vanquish

Polemokrateia

- Why does the snake shed it’s skin? - the boy asks.
The father smiles. His light is a tight embrace,
His voice - shimmering harmony, golden balm:
- Which truth do you wish to know?
- As many as there are, - the child giggles.
- That is too much, my boy. Know your limits.
Then, He speaks of an ancient king who found eternity,
Yet lost it to a cunning serpent, so now
The rascals rejuvenate themselves, leaving their skins like garments.
Yes, there is a herb - but only the vipers know;
No, if you seek that secret - you shall only find mortality.
But all too often, children listen but fail to hear;
And so, the stubborn young man finds that flower,
Or - who knows? - it might be Medusa’s blood;
Either way, it’s a slippery, chthonic mystery.
Some would say he has little need of it - he is a
Peerless healer, with steady hands and mind like volcanic glass.
Still, there are times when only a miracle will suffice,
And Asklepios is a saver, a giver: how could he keep it all to himself?
He brings them back. He orders Thanatos to retreat
With the quiet confidence of one who has
Sunlight inside his veins. But his limits find him
When the Lord Below and the Lord Above agree that enough is enough,
And strike him down. “All things end” - the ash whispers;
The serpent slithers away with it’s strange magic.
The father rages: this murder, equally just and unjust,
Must be avenged: so avenge He does, and one tale leads to another.
But the son… oh, mortality is a harsh lesson,
But even this ends: He rises strong out of cold embers,
Like a red bird, as He did at His first birth.
Clothed in a skin immortal. Older, wiser but still
A healer. Still stubborn, with piercing eyes,
Too smart for His own good. Truths, understood too late,
Are silver hairs in His unruly mane. Pain and hopelessness run like rats
From the God. May His touch reach you. After all, some miracles
Are small enough to be allowed. Snakes have their ways.