This day all gods follow a road down
From heaven to ruination, the path
That rare led anywhere now makes
A harvest of deities misplaced, believed
In and deified by modern man only.
Ephemeral wishes form divinity in aether
To deliver them, part grown, barely mature,
To lands in which they swell, growing
Like the tides beneath a dank lunar pull,
The sowing yet to be made, planted.
Rigidity reaped is the harvest from souls
Too long in thrall to copper gods for whom
The realms sigh and seek to shake off
For ritual trapped mortals to become free:
This day all gods go down this road, to die.