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In the Eyes of the Beholder
For all the Gods that chose to be mortal.
Your power is not lost.
Slumbering thick,
below billows of waned confusion.
But never gone.
Stoke the embers of your own hearth
Beat the anvil with all your worldly animosity
Challenging temper with dust
Glamour with must
The ballocks of ammunition hurled at you from the gods that climbed
High into their seats
Reigning smite, spite and ego
Remember the luxury
They will never reach
And let your powers sleep.
© PeightonMakany
Your power is not lost.
Slumbering thick,
below billows of waned confusion.
But never gone.
Stoke the embers of your own hearth
Beat the anvil with all your worldly animosity
Challenging temper with dust
Glamour with must
The ballocks of ammunition hurled at you from the gods that climbed
High into their seats
Reigning smite, spite and ego
Remember the luxury
They will never reach
And let your powers sleep.
© PeightonMakany
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