This Time Today

The Gods Of Old

The Gods of Old are dead. 

That is true, only in the form that it is they who no longer rule nations.

They walk beside us, powerless and powerful in every tragic way.

Zeus prowls bars and taverns, hooded eyes searching for the desperate, intoxicated victims to devilish grins and wandering hands. Drinks after drinks, empty kisses followed in empty passions.

Hera sits at home. A child's blanket in one hand and a wedding photo in the other, tears no longer cloud her eyes, for she is used to the late nights and random conquests. She preaches in group meeting of how women shouldn't stand for unfaithful men, oh how she wishes she could take her own advice. She never does.

Poseidon walks the shores of oceans, feels the earth tremble at his feet. He sees homes crushed by tsunamis and earthquakes, he hears the cries of those lost in the aftermath. His tears mix with the salty air. 

Hades resides in a country home, Persephone beside him. Pomegranate wafts through the air, a smile on his face, for death will always be believed in. For once, he's above his brothers; finally beaten them at something. Persephone walks through meadows near her home, grinning as people tremble at her feet. Night and day spent beside Hades' side, thriving in their triumph.   

Artemis spends the nights in jail cell after jail cell; blood on her knuckles and shirt, the dark liquid staining her lips. The smell of metal hangs in the air; the thrill of the hunt in her veins. Apollo travels the day and visits nightclub after nightclub. Liqueur flows in his blood and passion through his kisses. 

Athena stands in the hordes of women, men and everyone else, protesting something new. She walks through ancient buildings that have crumpled, seeing in her mind, how they once were. Carrying signs through the streets, she laughs wildly, these are her children.

Aphrodite scoffs as men catcall women on the streets, she sneers at the men with wandering hands. She's given up on the romance of love, long since has she danced under the stars in the hands of a lover, or kissed in the fireplace glow. Although, sometimes she'll see a couple on a date, holding a baby, or tying the knot and she'll be reminded of the older days. 

Ares walks threw the remains of war; walks through broken homes and bodies left in the battlefields. He stands in the back of the bars as fights break out; downing whiskey with the taste of anger. He's there as soldiers hug their loved ones, he's there for the nightmares too.

Hermes runs through the cities; New York, Los Angles, London, Tokyo, Beijing. He's in the airports, taxi cabs, and photos. He's the dark allies and midnight drives, the dreams of traveling the world. 

Dionysus stands behind the bar, mixes the drinks and watches as his family fades. He mixes Zeus his drinks, hands Ares his whiskey and watches Apollo dance. He's there as Artemis is put in handcuffs after another fight, and Hermes runs through another city. He reads Hera's posts, hands Poseidon a drink after his walks and watches Athena protest on the Television. He serves Hades and Persephone on their dates, and listens as Aphrodite cries on lost love. He holds their hair back and hands them another drink before they even ask. He watches as they flicker out. 

The Gods of Old are dead. The Gods of Old are us.