Song of the Mortal God

[tectak]

There is little that I can claim to understand in the interpretive sense in this. That you are trying to invest your prowess in the words, anecdotes and mythological musings of others is not without precedent. To pull  out a "new" poem you must be very sure that you are fully au fait with the source material and  as careful in your OWN words as the originators were...because it is by rewrite after rewrite that  stories evolve.
Not to be picky, it is perhaps best if the crit line by line shows up areas where opinion only can be acceptable...so no disputes over source validity or translation.

SONG OF THE MORTAL GOD

1
Don't patronize me-- An example of this patronizing will surely follow. It would be preferable that it came before...oh, I look to the next line and it doesn't come at all
isn't this how things should go? Not a response by or to a god, mortal or otherwise...Is not this how THINGS(?) should GO(?). What ARE we talking about here? A good metaphor would help, a simile would do at a push
Like the fungus No....not to be. This is a disconnect. I cannot in my wildest and kindest imaginings link what has gone before to being like a fungus, a flowering fungus even less so, a flowering fungus on a lion (even Hericium erinaceus is on wood) substrate almost unheard of, and then to involve the creation (quintessentially three or four dimensions if you include time) in a two dimensional representation just adds to the confusion. We need to be seeing clarification not obfuscation....after all, this is the opening stanza and I have become at best bemused and at worst confused
flowering on a lion's body,
one's creation
becomes the canvas of another.

2
How could I rejoice
here at the end of all things? Why are we at the end already? I though we were going to recreate everything on a canvas of fungus attached to a lion. If you think this is flippant, it is and I apologise for the thought but you started it.
This is Daniel's dream: OK, so this is what I was getting at. Daniel's dream of the four beasts would, I am sure, make a reasonable if dangerously plagiarised basis for a "poem". You drop him in by parachute then leave the poor bugger to his own devices. Where'd he go? Why was he here in the first place? Did he have his winged lion with him? Let us NOT forget...Daniel had a DREAM. The mythology was excused at source by that admission. Whatever comes next in terms of rising and falling empire's can ALL be supposition. You have opportunity here but you choose to limit the piece to what can only be described as an enfeebled musing along a not very well known path. I am denied conclusions because you are still on a personal voyage of discovery and it is beginning to READ as though you know not where it will end. Small sputterings of poetic intent do not make for good poetry. The next two lines are all AND nothing.
the lion's roar, the voice of kings.
Then it thunders,
matter turning into light. What what what? Where the hell are we now? Stars and suns and Einstein and nuclear and...and...WHAT HAPPENED TO DANIEL?

I was leaning against the darkness OK. Daniel's leaving tonight on a plane. I can see the red tail light...blah blah. He's gone. Did he leave his room in a mess. You betch'a
before this mess. And from that height, Back to serious crit. A little humour never hurt. There is a problem in this piece. It is a mish-mash. You have taken an enormous bite BUT you HAVE chewed it. There is a masticated mess, your word, but what are YOU hoping the reader can see in it? Angry words are all well and good in poetry, heightened emotions icily described work for me...but I cannot "SEE" what you are getting all worked up about. The piece needs to be calmed down and given a route to follow. The rest is much the same. I have read it to the end at least three times. It gets no nearer to making any serious point...in fact, it is a closet rant against god knows what. This is a pity because I doubt that you will consider distilling the thing in to one good godawful whinge. That is all that would work for me. Oh, and leave Daniel out of it.  
you all looked like ants 
flying from the flood. But God
always demands an answer:
and I left the moonlit porch, 
my piece of night, for a better view.

3
Strange. Every man, every woman,
whatever the cloak, whatever the station,
has a smile
painted on his face
even as he drowns.

We knew this is what you wanted:
you asked for water, we gave you water.
The joke is you're all enjoying it:
like good little ants, you build bridges
out of your own bodies. 

Meanwhile, the morning comes.
Black, blind imitation of God,
after the kingdoms come the judgments,
the echoes, the reflections--
And so the solitude of the victor,
the shame of the defeated...

4
There are no lions 
in the new world. Only ants
scattered across avenues of ash,
and towering around them,
toadstools. Foolish king
of the hill, what did you hear?
There is nothing to him but fear,
and now you belong
neither to heaven nor to earth.

Don't kill yourself on this one. It can be made good. Shorter, yes. Clearer, yes. What's wrong with that...I want to know?
Best,
tectak[/b]