Lost Gods

By: Xaviere Posted on: July 13, 2004

Whatever happened to the forgotten Ones,
Buried under a pall of dust?
No funeral for Them as They lie in state,
Slumped in an alcove, waiting for mortal
Eyes to find Them again, and live
Forever more.

Their lore is drowned under tomes of bureaucracy,
But Discordia has not Her place in
The Pantheon - Others do, Those from a
Time long lost in stories and tales
Whittled down to a whisper, and not remembered
At all. Lord Aeon, His
Beard dragging across the
Pedestal. A cohosh-driven fantasy;
The furrowed brow
In direst concentration, staring blankly at the sundial
Clasped at hand,
Waiting for the world to end

But it never did. A cracked
Piece of pale marble recalls
The Tarot card sharing Your Name. It
Glowed, but not
Now. Did You lose Your
Sense of place in a shifting world
Where they did not care?

Or do You watch from ethereal skies,
Passing time as You smile in Your rocking chair?

All the time You waited
And they waited on You, but
What went wrong? "Was
It You or Your faith
That lost Yourself?"
Wept pallid Eros, swept aside;
No rosebud angel

To bless me now, shrunken
In shadow the child
Dies, and a new one
Come to take His place;
A Loveless Lover.

Further up sits a curious figure
Cowled in cloth from head to
Toe of harsh granite waves. The sculptor
Was granted with the
Skill of Thought, the thin hook nose
Peering out inquisitively from the worn stone
Robes. Oh, what philosophy
Is this now, Lucretius?

To lie senseless against the ground
Still holding Your Book - still
Ready to debate over
The pointlessness of faith
And how we thrive on belief.
A tattoo chiselled
Lovingly on Your
Head, now a
Bumpy crescent dent of a moon, a
Faded memory

Of the First War, You said rocks would fall -
And this is the irony.

The irony that lies within
Painted eyes, murmurs
The Eternal Wanderer who sighs
At the darkened ceiling, bitter
Tears flow off
Your chilled cheeks. Did You
Lose Yourself in Your travels, sweet
Raclawice? The Pash Valley

Screamed Your Name but was
Only answered by itself. Did You
Drown in the river of despair and
Sink forever? That crimson lip
Which trembles unmovingly
As You trudge for miles
Yet never move an inch - do
You hide from us? What would
Lucretius say, so close to You

Now, this illogical path which
You choose to take?

Side by side They slump,
Soundless in sorrow; where
Are Your followers now? The
So-called "faithful to Your cause"
Have abandoned You - who knows
Your Triumphs but the rats
Who dwell deep in the sewers?

Did we push You away?
Or did You push us back?
The Ones who returned; we
Fulfilled our penance,

But will You stay lost
In Infinity, a dying statue
Of brevity

That crumbles, and fades away...