Fallen

Olympus has fallen. It tumbled down, struck by the lightning of Zeus and washed away by the floods of Neptune. The mighty mountain, reduced to relics, remains, rubble. And the gods? They don't know anymore. Olympus has fallen. So has Greece. So has Rome. And now, the gods. Where did they go? Athena lives quietly. Days at the library, taping together ripped pages and shattered spines as if fixing them could fix her fallen home. She shares each evening with the same studious man, and sometimes, she thinks she could love him. But when the moon is full, he sneaks out at dusk, as if Athena doesn't know. Minerva awaits. The maiden turned mistress. She never stays long. When the moon sets, Athena returns. She mourns the love of an immortal man. She curses the naivety of a human one. And the satyrs turn to fauns And the midnights turn to dawns. But Olympus Still Has fallen. Ares lives loudly. Days revving the engine of his dented motorcycle, as if the noise could drive out his demons. Nights in bars, picking fights and hitting on nervous waitresses just trying to get through their shift. But when the moon is full, he sits quietly until the neon lights fizzle and fade, and his fellow dignitaries arrive. Mars awaits. They discuss battle and barricades, patrol and, sometimes, peace. He never stays long. When the moon sets, Ares returns. He mourns the loss of a reason to fight. He curses these mortal fights he cannot win. And the satyrs turn to fauns And the midnights turn to dawns But Olympus Still Has fallen. And Hades can do naught but laugh. His fellow Olympians, reduced to immortals with mortal pain. The most glorified of gods, wrestling with loneliness, bitterness, depression. His specialties. After all, it is awfully hard to fall When you are not welcome among the most high.