Solmanath’s Revenge On The Psyche Of July.

Hewi-Manod slips off her Ruby rings,

collected over time, given in earnest

in hopes of marriage proposal, no suitor

ever realising she was already with child

but not yet laden with drought and looks ahead

to the start of Dog Days and the spoils of war

that she will soon bring.

 

Whisper slowly, war is coming…

 

The blood courses through the two bodies with the eagerness

of a rattlesnake caught on drifting sands,

one eye on survival, one upon the gleaming future ahead

but an unseen third that sees

all and cowers behind the façade of glory

and understands that death, her own long lingering

demise starts on her first day alive.

 

The anger of this, the knowledge of Middle Age crushing invincibility

bothers and vexes,

infuriates and enrages Hewi-Manod

to the point where she relives the days in

which her former destructive self of Solmanath

conquered all before him, the ravaging and command

of nature’s spoils and white tainted air

enough to scatter those that dared

plan against his short temper.

Shush Hewi-Manod, you know that war is coming

 

Solmanath lives on despite being banished

from her soul, the beauty of the May Queen

and the resigned innocence

of the hag like figure of Hailag-Madod,

the December sleep, long forgotten, for now

as fire, heat and wrath stormed passion play their part

in bringing temperatures to boil.

 

The year is on its downward slope, it curves

towards its conclusion and Hewi-Manod feels the depression

that this causes as the Dark Knights encircles her Empire

and threaten to breach the one strong borders once more.

 

“I will not become Hailag-Madod” she cries in anguished fear,

the sound of her desperation clear and carries far beyond

the townsfolk gathering together by the dusty, seagull home, clock

that chimes not the hour but the month that passes.

The shrill voice of the damned chills them

even on the hottest day and they fear that such proclamation

will only cause her to become a tyrant like Solmanath

but in feminine form and bedecked with Rubies

rather the bones, the gumless teeth that hung

round his neck and which glistened

on the coldest day against the brightness of snow.

 

The August in Hewi-Manod,

the sister, the spectre, the keeper of her future soul

and the most war like of all twelve incarnations,

pricks up her ears and smiles,

 

War is coming,

war is coming,

peace be damned,

war is coming”,

she utters and Hewi-Manod realises what she has let loose,

the box of Pandora creaks slightly and humanity is doomed

unless she controls her fury.

 

Lifting her hand to her stomach

she feels unborn January kick,

the following year must be born in peace

lest The May Queen never smiles upon the world again.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015