Chapter 8 – The Song of the Poet King

--- Chapter 8 – The Song of the Poet King The Gospel According to Zeus > They call him David. But before his harp was strummed, before his sling loosed its stone, Orpheus sang to the roots of the world. His lyre softened the stones, his song made even Hades weep — and the notes were mine, stolen from the storm’s own chord. So I clothed the shepherd-boy in melody, set a harp in his hand, and whispered thunder into his throat. He sang psalms that rattled palace walls, songs that drew kings to their knees, not because his heart was pure, but because my storm was hidden in his chords. And when the giant rose, broad as a tower, feet dug into the earth like roots, I gave the boy a stone and a memory. As Heracles once broke Antaeus, lifting him from the soil that fed him strength, so too did David strike the giant’s brow, severing his tether to the ground. Mortals call it faith. I call it precision. For a sling is nothing but lightning caught in a circle, a stone hurled like a fragment of the firmament. They crowned him king, and his throne became the echo chamber of my voice. When he sang, they said it was worship. But I tell you this: it was storm-music, thunder bent into verse. Remember this: the poets who charm your hearts are but echoes of the lyre I plucked before the first dawn. upon it.