They too, were once, Gods.
Oh, and how far have they fallen.
Harder they hit, they say;
and the bigger they are, harder they hit.
Who was there to trust now?
Who to pray and who to lust?
If it were the end,
the almighty lords were dead,
if the inevitable oblivion shone upon
was there ever a battle that was won?
For what
have they fought?
Love -- definitely not.
The unending greed 'twas, I presume,
and the sound the winds made when they
licked the top of the huge white rocks.
Yes, they fought for the winds,
against the heavens,
for they did not have any wings,
-- nor any gods.
Now, as the Aegean sun
burns the top of their heads
they feel gods there, packed
in little crowds, sweating
overwhelmingly.
Sweating and hiding,
for they wish to
betray them in deepest consequence.
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