Oh the glory of the celestials
gird for battle in golden helm
girt round in raiment of light
armed in very bolts of heaven
forged on blacksmith’s storm
How they strut in majestic valor
with bodies that refuse to bear
even deepest wound or piercing
but close fast to save divine ichor
so rebound hero to battle renewed
How glorious the Divine Warriors
bellowing thunder at each other
stepping over broken corpses
of subordinate mortal soldiers
unable to staunch grievous gore
Such supernal providential might
to carry on the struggle until
the last human falls upon foe’s sword
upheld through will of their own god
who goads on the enemy cohorts
Avatars shrug and slap opposing deities
good-naturedly on immortal rumps
then leave the field arms-on-shoulders
drink their mead, battle wits and wait
'til fresh mortal armies gorge their glory
