Who Mourns for Apollo?...

A message from Mount Olympus,
home of the ancient gods
still hovering round the Parthenon
waiting still for the smell of roast oxen
and wine poured on the stone
The Muses still remain
guiding, giving
as artists ply their craft, their heart
without any real thought
to making a living
The Fates as well
still weave their spells
as the string unwinds
and the scissors cut
But what of the others
why have they not
made themselves known
as in far ago times
when no hero walked alone?
Are they too weak
from lack of tribute
or is it that we have become
our own gods,
dealing life and death,
joy and strife
in amounts too real to compare
to the flashes of lightning?
Perhaps all that is left
is their cries on the wind,
that build until the tempests begin
or their screams that rumble
until the earth begins to tumble
and what we built begins to crumble
man made, destroyed by gods
Perhaps tonight i will offer a loin of beef
and spill a little wine
for more than ever man needs direction
for we are lost within ourselves...
                  12-8-12