Many Are The Gods

Many are the gods of this and that
self appointed idols and icons aplenty
with a vision in concrete like a movie plot
the atomic weight of Krypton and a cheap shot
and versions of the truth, maybe ten or twenty
‘cause that’s how it feels or that’s where it’s at.

Their mouths are full of malice like perfumed mace
and a scepter of peer praise is given in jest
for before their thrones lie an angelic chorus
singing phrases of doom that need a thesaurus
to rescue their wonder and kill all the rest
and shove it like rage back into your face.

From headline to dollar sign comes the weeping
and mourners pay the ferryman with coin of the realm
while spitting with venom is a concert event
and Isaiah’s caution is mangled and bent
as actors and players take charge of the helm
to lock our lost nation into their safe-keeping.

But the gods are hollow jesters of stage
and hubris is fertile like box-office winners
for desperation is an art and a skill
and some folks are stupid but know what they will
like who are the righteous and who might be sinners
and spurn the convoy to a smug tinsel cage.

So woe to the gods and woe to their train
and woe and alas must the echo be loud
to tell and exclaim of the toxins that flow
from the mountain of America’s minstrel show
and those that live on a sardonic cloud
we shun the storm and embrace the spring rain.