antique gods do gather

 

 

I walk the world they wrought and wonder, to whence have they all fled;

Where went their swords and archers, where the legions they once led?

 

Why have sacred stones all fallen, why precious altars lost to dust;

How did this ending come upon us, what turned diamonds into rust?

 

Where is the face of Aphrodite, where the bow of Artemis;

Who now knows Athena’s wisdom, Hermes’ helm or Eros’ kiss?

 

If I plumb the deepest caverns, will I find the Ferry still?

Does Charon still take payment for that final journey’s bill?

 

Is Ares at the table when our warlords make their plans,

Or is his post forsaken, War itself outgrown his hands?

 

Does Apollo still like music when it comes from an Ipod;

Or when the world turns faster, is it too much for a God?

 

Just how high is Mount Olympus, when men may see it from a plane;

And how goes Hades’ Kingdom, has Death deserted his domain?

 

I picture gilded throne rooms, now all empty of god-kind,

With Zeus left alone to ponder what new gods Man has enshrined.

 

I see broken tumble-temples, altar stones carted to farms;

Statues carved in tribute that have shed their divine charms.

 

Yet in the twilight shadows, between the blinkings of an eye,

I think those antique gods do gather, as if to say goodbye.

 

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