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I offer this poem in homage to Mihangel's magnificent tale "Those Old Gods," which I first read years ago and have visited regularly ever since.


by Merkin

The old god saw our hearts' desire:

our love, or lust, or art, or dire

deeds done; all known. We had his nod

when we believed, and showed the god

our noble aim. Our only thought,

the honesty of love. We sought

to venerate, and hoped to gain

his approval and acclaim.

But we forgot. An aeon's toll has taken

our knowledge of his ways. We live forsaken.

We are no more protected: we've left

our heritage, and thus bereft

we may no longer call for aid--

until such time as can be paid

an offering where love abounds,

and two united should be found

whose lips and hearts resound above

the name Maponus, god of love.

The sacrifice, though scant, is quite sublime.

Required, but a splash of lovers' wine.

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