Why clamour havoc when a god grows old?
We’ve seen them start and quicken, rise and glow
Reflecting votive light, then murky grow
In smoke of that devotion, and are cold.
Men kill the gods that men themselves have made;
The first, a thing obscene of clay and hair,
Died in a winter when the earth was bare
Because the tribe were hungry and afraid.
Apollo’s shrine may house an errant ass,
And Mithras tire of Roman blood and tears;
Bones of their empires ringing down the years
Clank hollowly that gods who rise shall pass.
Men ask too much of incense-wearied gods;
And gods rebel when men upon them cast
The burden of their spinning in the past;
And so men perish while grim Mammon nods.
As Theban fists beat impotent at Ammon,
So we berate our palsied god today;
No prayers or threats can vivify the clay
That rots behind the gilded mask of Mammon!
(Burnett A. Ward)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, God Poems, Light Poems, Past Poems, Hair Poems, Winter PoemsBased on Keywords: theban, ammon, vivify, hollowly, berate, mithras