Gods in Society

He sits behind a desk,
burnt dark wood ominously rests in its pride,
The center piece of a dark blood red room,
garnished with swords and armor,
guns and daggers,
Military hats mounted like heads,
His suit is a sleek black,
screaming for relief at the bulging muscles,
pushing forth,
with each godly breath,
as the red silk tie,
like a neon snake,
makes a home around his neck,
He drinks mead with ice,
while watching the media spew forth his accomplishments,
tickled by death,
we are his pawns in the power game of chess,
division and war are his daily paycheck,

He often speaks to an old friends,
A pretty volatile thing,
stirring the pot on a regular basis,
cooking up poison,
charitably giving to the masses,
a swollen shock of gluttony,
fearing everywhere,
growing in size,
plump as a mutant parasite,
they occasionally play golf together,

He kinda dated,
this chick once,
she was beautiful,
like a budget Aphrodite,
on a budget and obsessed,
a new god,
half price with phone in hand,
clicking pictures,
whoring herself to Instagram,
impossible standards,
with no self worth,
he liked it when she got crazy,
in the end he decided to give her a wide berth,

Once in a while, he’ll get a call,
on his bluetooth warpiece,
a dependable friend,
that would update him,
on his political ends,
and men,
a geeky fellow,
suave and unassuming,
parted hair and slim lips,
he had Bill Gates and Steve Jobs in his clip,
gurthing wider than any other new god,
addicted, every last one of them,

he was jealous of such power,
yet his allies are few,

Death didn’t want to talk,
all that much,
he’s working over time,
the graveyard shift,

He ignored other gods,
distractions from his goal,
at the top of his tower,
in the red room,
watching the world burn,
by his hand,
ancient bloodied hands,
to match his neon silk snake,
growing ever powerful,
as bipedal ants scurry beneath him,
he waits for destruction,
for war.


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