Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE HELL-GOD, by LOUISE MORGAN SILL First Line: I am the hell-god, war! Last Line: I am the hell-god, war! Subject(s): Hell; Social Protest; War | ||||||||
LOUISE MORGAN SILL I am the Hell-god, War! When I go forth from the dim caves of Hell I mask, that none may know me, and I wear A brow of Honour, with deep eyes of Faith, A mouth of Valour, and a Patriot's smile. Thus go I forth, the Hell-god, War. But deeper writhe the serpents in their pits As though with silent laughter, and the spears Of new-roused demons flicker in the gloom. I travel to my place, and lo, the mask Falls from me, and men see me as I am Then in my blood boils the demoniac rage Of my true being. Men who dare my power Though they be what their fellows deem the highest Of all earth's children, though they be as fair As were their mothers, though they be as loved As angels in high Heaven, yet I dash them, Puppets, to earth, and grind their horrorful eyes Into the mud with my twice-cloven heel. Women I soil, and torture with such deeds As men with horrid mouthings dare not name. Old men I strangle, and old womenfaugh! Into the ditch they fall to smother there Beneath dead horses, or dead men, or what Of death is chancing by. Their homes I burn; Their guerdonmany a hungry day was spent, Toil-sweating days, to hoard those foolish coins I take them, as I laugh and laugh again. And when there's death enough, I call my friends The vultures, and they make a merry feast. Then on I go into the homes of these, The dead pawns of my game, and in the hearts Of fathers, mothers, children, aye, and wives Deep, deep in wivesI drive the blood-red swords The dead men fought withnot to give them death, But fill their veins with agony, alive. Some weep, some moan, some sink in hopeless woe, Old heads bow low, and younger heads turn grey. The game is rich and fieryit passes, But this long aftermath of gaunt despair Yields me good profit, fills my heart with joy, My mouth with laughter. Ho, oho, oho! I am the Hell-god, War! Then I go home to Hell, wherein one night, One murky, sullen night, I was engendered, My father the Arch-fiend, and my dark mother As foul a witch as ever murdered souls. They taught me from my birth this game of War, A pretty game, that set my temper hot And stormed my sense with blood-lust. Many cycles Have passed while men have striven hard to check My noble play, and evermore have failed. The nether gods are with me, and their power Works for my ends. For what could be more worthy Of godly sport than this same game of War? What finer deed than murder? What more great Than swift destruction of a humble home, Crushing of hope, starving of fighting men, The maiming of the strong, or sudden, strange, And horrible disappearance of a man Blown into formless atoms? What more rare Than mothers felled and bound, that I may feed Their butchered children to themas they eat Their reason bursts and goes. Oh, 'tis a game Only the nether gods can look upon And smile, for theirs must be a rough-hewn sport. And when my little pawns, men, prate of peace I laugh, and all my demons laugh again, For well we know their weakness, well we know Their greed, their egotism and their fear Fear of the little pawnsthat other men May call them coward: one of the many fears Of the fearful little pawns. Oh how we laugh! How wide the murmur ripples through all Hell, Through blackened arches, gloomy gates and caves! From fiend to fiend, from pit to lower pit, That cackling laughter in the glimmering light Echoes for ever, pleasing to my ears, Warming the bloody currents of my veins I am the Hell-god, War! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I AM YOUR WAITER TONIGHT AND MY NAME IS DIMITRI by ROBERT HASS MITRAILLIATRICE by ERNEST HEMINGWAY RIPARTO D'ASSALTO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY WAR VOYEURS by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA THE DREAM OF WAKING by RANDALL JARRELL THE SURVIVOR AMONG GRAVES by RANDALL JARRELL SO MANY BLOOD-LAKES by ROBINSON JEFFERS BOWLING GREEN by LOUISE MORGAN SILL |
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