Equals

Reality – oozing,
Dripping from his fingers
As though it was blood
Spilt from the wounds of men.

The rages and passions
Are his; he, simmering,
Darkest lord, controls most
Of that which we hold dear.

Yet we reject him:
We hide our faces and
Harden our hearts against him.
He is war, we say—

How can we trust him?

But Aphrodite did not suffer thus;
She, who some call the softest
And most beautiful of the gods,
Took him into her arms – her equal,

In all things.

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