A meeting of magic, our deities discuss
The soul of our Hero, upon which they fuss.
Who will claim power, their hold on her heart?
Will she rise up renewed, or be left torn apart?
‘A curse on your truths,
Your silly little hooves –
You know naught of pain;
How I strain to refrain.’
‘Calm your dark soul
That has swallowed you whole –
Seek not to attack
Or stab knives in my back.’
‘Silly man! Feel my boot,
Your opinion is moot –
You’ve never bled,
So I’ll hear nothing you’ve said.’
‘Must she be tainted?
How you’ve greedily waited –
Her pain’s come relentless
But from you it’s just senseless.’
Neither giving an inch in a battle of hope,
Held captive, inert, in the trap of their scope;
Unable to concede or accept one defeat,
This word war will rage until one must retreat.
‘I wish not for her to struggle;
But watching things that she does juggle –
Like pain and death and cruel men’s breath –
To all your lessons I am deaf.’
‘Listen you must!
Sometimes men you can trust.
The cost of her hurt may boil your blood,
But you offer her drowning; of hate, your great flood.’
‘I will hear this no more!
You are weak and you bore;
Grow a spine little man –
Little goat, little Pan.’
‘If you cannot see reason
I’ll retreat till my season;
Pray you can make a start –
Hope in spring thaw your heart.
A winter queen against a summer spirit
Both pushed to frustration beyond their limit;
Winter fairies will work until violent men cursed,
While woeful Pan wonders will good ones be nursed?