The Goading of Hephaistos

Hermes wanders into
the forge of Hephaistos,
strangely quiet and cold.
There the muscular god sits
hands idle, staring into nothing.

Ares says you’ve lost your mojo,
that you are washed up as
you’ve created nothing new
and now I find your cave
silent and still as a grave.

Hephy, big man, what gives?
The Master Craftsman of the Gods
should be clanging and banging,
not sitting there as if extinguished.
Has Ares spoke truly?

Messenger, you speak most strange
And what is this you wear?
A billed cap, chains around your neck
With breeches hanging low
and shoes untied?

Predicting the youth of tomorrow,
silly chaps that will need inspiration.
Enough about my woes.
Tell me what is down with you.
Has your fire been smothered?

Surely there is something more
Than printing presses
And waterless clocks!
Or will you have to listen for all time
the war god’s steam of insults?

First he steals into Aphrodite’s bed,
the lucky war dog,
then charms her fickle heart.
Now he laughs and ridicules you
while you sit passively idle!

Get out of my forge
feathered errand boy!
You tell my blood gorged brother
that he has not seen the best
that me and mine can produce!

As the bellows fire angrily ignites,
a soft and gentle hand
curls around the smith’s bicep.
He’s only goading you,
probably at Zeus’ command.

As Hephaestus looks down
at the tiny perfect beauty,
the joy of his heart,
the forge settles down
to a blissful glow.

Kharis, my love, I know.
But ol’ Silver-tongue is right.
I have sat still for too long.
Yet They mistake my stillness
for idleness and lack of vision.

Ares will have his toys,
much to the mortals delight and dismay.
Zeus will see his energy harnessed,
for good but also for ill.
Two steps forward, one step back.

However, Hermes Wordsmith and Thief,
for him I will make and inspire
something to exceed even HIS imagination.
Industry revolutionized anew.
Information netted, accessible to all.

Go my love, my perfect wife.
Remove thy gentle form
from the harshness of my forge.
The flames must be stoked higher
as there is much work to be done.

This poem fulfills my promise.