Hermes' Shadow by Tom Hirons in Farewell Issue, Journal of Mythic Arts, 2008 — Endicott Studio

Hermes' Shadow

by Tom Hirons


Today, I am the dark angel.

Not Hermes delivering Persephone from the underworld,

but the one who soars down,

takes Eurydice back where she belongs.

Who did she think she was, anyway?

She left Orpheus to do all the work;

who can blame him for faltering?

I'd have done it on purpose.


Fuck Apollo and all his weightless radiance.

Fuck Zeus, Aphrodite and the rest;

I'm going to Hades to hang out in the darkness.

I'll find Ares and put barbs in the swords,

twist the tips of spears and

maybe crack a can around

Hecate's crackling, cackling fire.


They can look for me in the whore–house

and the gutter–lined bars;

I'll be shattering myths,

breaking bottles over Eros' curly head

and fucking guileless nymphs

between sheets of blood and whisky

and poisoned dreams of hope.


They wanted a messenger,

but wanted to pick the message;

I'm going to stalk the motorway

with apocalyptic declarations

strapped to my glorious body;

I'm going to wait by marriage beds

and proclaim the supremacy

of infidelity, deceit and the

thousand petty deaths of the soul.


Fuck the healers

who dare not heal;

Fuck the orators

who peddle lies of light;

Fuck the winged messengers;

Fuck the heroes

and their muscle–bound

impotence;

They can come gold

for all I care;

They'll all die in their time

and I'll be there,

laughing.


I'm going to torture poets,

break musicians strings

and chase the Muses to hell.

I'll break canvases,

shatter stained glass

and poison the well.

I'm going to make vinegar

from the golden apples of the sun.


Today, I am the dark angel;

The god of boundaries

has his face turned towards the shade;

I will usher souls into darkness

and they can fend for themselves;

I am sick of the light

and all its insubstantial promises

of salvation.

Saved, from what?

For whom?

You are all free, already;

I am tired of your constant, mortal

misapprehension of your life.


Look for me in the shadow,

the gutter and the nightmare.

Today I am the dark angel;

If you want to wake up,

then do it yourself.










About the Author:
Tom Hirons is a poet and storyteller living in Edinburgh, Scotland. "A particular passion," he says, "is rites of passage. Wilderness fasts, in particular. Meaningful rites are powerful medicine — to fast alone in the hills, without a tent for four days; things change. The soul takes notice of such gestures." To read more of Hirons' work, visit his Coyopa blog.

Copyright © 2008 by Tom Hirons. This poem may not be reproduced in any form without the author's express written permission.



Farewell Issue   |   JoMA Poetry Archives