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Viking Raid

Restless church bells ring their towers
and the air tastes of alarm.

They will be here within hours --
sun, suspicious, masks its charm
and retreats to safer quarters
as the village hides its daughters
and the blacksmith hands out swords.
Witches sell a few more wards.

At the square, the townsfolk gather...

Some will bring a thing of gold.
Others, stock.  A few would rather
die in fighting than grow old,
but the town will try to barter --
most would rather live than martyr.

See tomorrow, having paid.
If they can...

A Viking raid.

From The Beginning

Back when God just started heaven --
long before there was a hell,
and before the number seven
grew such meaning in the tell,
He would walk among immortals.
Those popped in through quantum portals,
each with resume in hand.
Vied for roles they've heard He planned.

Some, like Gabriel, sought power,
in commanding of the host.
Others -- more came by the hour --
wouldn't dream of such a post,
settling for minor glory,
but there's one -- you've heard his story,
barely off the boat -- a barge --
he demanded -- "who's in charge?"

Who would dare!? What pride, what hubris!
Host, collective, held its breath,
but we do admire -- you know this --
those that fearless, challenge death,
and so God did naught but chuckle --
well, perhaps a friendly knuckle,
patting Satan on the head.
"I'm in charge, of course", He said.

Thus it was, in the beginning,
going smoothly, as per plan,
but hosannas, though well meaning,
Satan wasn't a big fan.
Not for him, their adulation,
so at last, with some frustration,
he reached out to Mother Eve,
though she has yet to conceive.

"Eve", he said, a phallic symbol --
she led an idyllic life --
"Eve, you're nothing if not nimble,
is that all you want? A wife
to that dusty, earthy Adam?
You can do much better, madam."
Eyes red embers, and warm glow
swept through Eve, both high and low.

What came next -- you've heard some versions,
edited for younger minds.
Far from me to cast aspersions...
Surely failings of our kind,
countless -- but imagination
isn't one -- nor is our station
such that we don't want for more.
Eve went on, then, to explore

all that Satan had on offer,
and her children, ever since,
we've accepted every proffer,
whether peasant or a prince,
tribe or empire, mob or nation,
sweet, eternal our damnation,
in the know now, we proceed.
No surprise: we're demon seed.