How can you speak of gods,
When they have long left us?
We are but ruins of a sand castle
In their playground
They have grown up
And moved to sophisticated creations
We are but lifeless puppets
Foolishly pulling our own strings
-
Do you think deities look at us
And think of fools?
Or do they think of bravery,
To keep going in a dying world?
-
Fate has left,
Yet we blame her for our irresponsibility
-
Don't look at me like that
When I say I believe in the old gods
Don't do that
Let me be
At least they listen
[Yes I thank Tyche and Fortuna when I get lucky, every once in a while]
-
We give them names, symbols, and statues
But we forget to worship ourselves
-
Gods are gone
Or
Gods are human
But
What if
Gods are animals?
Wonderful creatures of this world,
Uncatchable for our fleshy fingers, without claws
Free from our grasp, from our arms without feathers
Unconceivable to our minds, weak and little in a bone, stone cold skull
Unreachable, away from our mouths without fangs or venom
All we have is a sort of belief in something greater than us
[Though some believe themselves to be the greatest]
YOU ARE READING
Under the moonlight
PoetryPoems and thoughts. ...What else am I supposed to do? These are things I wrote down the way I think, with sweltering anger and invigorating joy, in tears and smiles. I dearly hope you will take these words as advice, to live by and never to forget. ...
