They Remain

The old gods still dance in the dark, secret places
Some walk among us wearing the saints’ weary faces.
They may have retreated from the first and the last,
But still they remain, their time not yet passed.

Mortals in their hubris, look at their realm
And deny what is unseen remains at the helm.
Walking the streets as if narrow and straight
While traveling the worn paths shadowing fate.

Revering painted lies to ignore rhythms ancient,
Heedless and mocking the warnings of the prescient
With pride do they labor, oblivious its in vain
The old gods still take tribute in suffering and pain.