Mythology Poem by Timothy Long

Forgotten lore, only as real as made out to be, never to be as powerful as they. Tales and myths seem real, nothing was, as no one can shake, so why call it fake, what makes one religion realec than another? Is not it all art, ideas spread from mouths of the past, one's the future cannot blast, anything could be, gamblers and thieves killing in thebe's, man core killing aboard roaring galore, Gods oh so many can kill, why are there so many disasters to fill? Fiction or art, a world of many emotions and senses, who are we, what's our history, within? Brain, knocking on our door, never repeat of the past, reading the answer knowing the pain, the earlies work was a sight to see, like unicorns and aliens we guess, the hero's journey every one knows a tragedy or a drama for free. Without the cost of comedy, locked out with imagination. Art of this culture of potieh discovered early, does it make you uncomfortable? Life you've never seen before, Are we this work, a representation of things not known, God is not here, its only polytheism you see, Gods rule the mortals who are fools, society is the lovers war, droughts drown like Noah's arc, unrest is a fascination, slow down to see the giants before us, no raptors of Adam nor Eve, a sense of mystery that dominates thought, folding undertake, only by a Gods mistake, the torch by which all lives can not go out, die swilling as hapes grip judges you after all, counessy of love, its all you can do to death, fight when its common, love when luxury is gold, going to home to family at last, your free now, remember, but never let go, as if passing easily by time to fly.