Secret Gods Poem by Ripper Jones

Secret gods present feet of wax
To melt on the pyre of faithlessness
They know their time has come
Bowing to the the mass
Dreamy opiates of the chained sapiens
Gone beyond what is best for themselves
In the continuing mire of self-defacement
In a bubble of self-limiting ecstasy
Itself a by product of lethargic
Longings for the wild life of gathering
Golden apples thrown deities as
Paris abducts beauty and faces hade's
Trials like Hercules risen from
The cinder-heap of alluring sirens
Who can but hope that their lair
Filled with effigies of past conquests
Can quench the blood-lust that arises
When fate calls for thunderstruck
Chorus to sing out-of-tune.