Poem: The Gods

 

The Gods

 

sampling hors d’oeuvres

from celestial platters,

what do they know?

weaker than a mother’s tears,

or the battlefield that ate her son.

their bloated goblets, their timeless

obese coffers, their indolence

punctuated with our pitiable prayers,

 

what if we meager entertainers

sat down and glared at up

at the blue, one-way window,

and mocked the gods

with a collective, resounding shout:

“who will idolize us, offer us flesh!”

 

and yet, we believe.

 

when some foolish thinker

proves that the gods are nothing,

mere mutual illusions,

heavy analgesic chains,

we say nothing, know nothing,

do knowing other than bury another day

in the cemetery of our ignorance.

 

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