This challenge sounded familiar, and indeed, I have met this one before. I was challenged by ecrivan to write a poem regarding a planetary God. This was the result:
Waiting for the Wrath of Mars
I write these words with trembling hand--
remembering times I summoned Gods.
A challenge, now, from ecrivan--
so warily I called Nimrod:
"I pray you grant me cunning, Sir--
the keen of eye and stealth of foot--
lend to me a draught of strength
and courage to do what I should."
"You have the fearlessness of child."
Surprisingly, his voice was mild.
"Tell me then, what is your prey
that makes you carry on this way?"
Defiantly, I raised my chin,
but wavered voice betrayed chagrin.
"I do not know what I long for,
but I must hunt the God of War."
"You must be weary of your life--
it's not enough that you know Strife?,
nurtured by the vile Discord--
you ask for that you ill afford!"
I lowered eyes and studied floor.
"I do not wish to embrace War--
yet should I be denied my stay--
I swear that I'll die anyway!"
"You are brave, but most unwise.
Go then, child, to your demise."
As all the stars of heaven cried,
I shuddered as Orion sighed.
Muttering, he waved one arm,
"Strength can't keep you safe from harm."
Thus I withdrew to Hermit's cave.
I fasted there for forty days.
With bloodied hands, I dug my grave,
and prayed my sins would be forgave.
I cleansed myself through salt of tears,
as one by one, I battled fears.
I had to first survive the Hell,
and slay the demons birthed by self.
I watched the sky as planets moved.
I gathered herb. I hummed The Tune
of Summoning--I could not sing--
until I felt the quickening.
Incantation knows not pen.
Words in whispers must be kept.
but know that some Gods' names are sung,
while other names of Gods are wept.
Forgive the silence of my ink.
I cannot tell you--you must think--
the rule of rite of summoning--
* * *
Thus came the dusk, night 'thirty-nine,'
I felt the need of fire's heat.
I gathered rowan from the field.
I bundled twigs, encircling me.
Around the raging eye of oak
and sandalwood of heady smoke--
I wailed as labor pain began--
I wept his name in love's recant.
I called him, Ares, of the Greek--
then scorned the Roman Mars as meek,
boasting that I danced on grave
and all the world was finally saved
from Panic, Trembling and Terror.
The sons of War, enslaved forever.
His minions now were mine--by whim--
into the night, I laughed at him.
Thereupon, the ground did split,
and I fell deep into the Pit.
Scenes of rape and riotry,
crimes of war and bigotry--
the taste of bile rose in my throat--
and I collapsed before his throne.
"WHO DOES DARE TO CALL ON ME?
A poet? writing poetry?
She calls herself serenity!
Cute." He snarled derisively.
"Let her burn.
She's a disgrace.
Let her scream
for sin of haste."
I did the only thing I knew--
I wailed to him--"But I love you!
I gladly gave up light of stars
to gaze upon the face of Mars.
You are the mighty son of Zeus!
I betrothe myself to you.
I offer love as sacrifice.
I stand before you, trembling bride.
For you, I would die willingly,
but first, I pray, you lay with me..."
I looked into his blue-flamed eyes--
and he smiled to my surprise.
"What a cunning bit of wile--
you are indeed a wicked child!
How did you know what I long for?
Alas, I can't make love and war.
But would I could, I'd make you wife,
but never shall I betray Strife."
"You've pleased me, so I'll let you go,
but no one else must ever know
that on the Earth was moment's peace
when God of War showed his mercy."
* * *
I penned these words
by light of stars:
dares wrath of Mars..."
Orion writes across the sky
in twinkled script--he winks--"nice try."