In a transcendent twilight hour,
Zeus's "rule" comes near its end.
He watches, rapt, as the couriers
Of oblivion descend.
Glory ebbs, now, ever more swiftly
Like the blood of a slaughtered deer,
But the self-anointed "king of the gods"
Quails not as the void draws near.
Hera stands transfixed as darkness
Upon her bright sphere encroaches;
Her wide eyes gleam with a macabre light
As her sure demise approaches.
In a distant Holy of Holies
Solomon bends low on his knees.
Attending the Voice of omnipotence;
The Voice he daren't displease.
Certain Aeons were granted sanction
To enact benign incursions.
But Aeons, being what they are,
Stained their mandate with perversions.
Hence a world of "gods" and "monsters"
Plagued mankind for an age.
Until the Authority surpassing all
Once more bestrode the stage.
Solomon was blessed with wisdom,
And the insight to serve all nations;
To understand, and speak, the words
That expunge abominations.
In that transcendent twilight hour,
It is seen how virtue survives;
How half gods are extinguished
The instant God arrives.