The Titans

They come with thunder.

Footsteps shattering the

Skin of the world with each

Step.

They stand tall over their dominion.

Swathed in colors of their creed.

Red. White. And Blue.

Grins wide and trusting, watching

Mortals scurry like ants far

Below.

With one purposeful sweep

Of the arm, whole cities are

Decimated. Burned, scorched to

Dust.

Rain tumbles down onto the ruin.

Thick heavy sheets coating the

Ground. Fat, salty drops pooling

in the deep, dark crevices of the

Earth.

The few unfortunate survivors

Take what they can and flee.

Turning their backs on all they

Know, not daring to look back

On the empty shell of their

Homeland.

They find refuge in camps,

Tucked away in the countryside.

Created by the slaves of the

Destroyers. Caring, teaching,

Giving. Ignorant of the

Truth.

Names slip through mortal fingers

Like blood. Borders change, cities

Renamed, states created out of

Nothing.

Everything belongs to the conquerors,

Their skin a pale brutish white, eyes

Gleaming from greed for stolen

Treasure.

Lost, alone, afraid to look forward,

The mortals cling to Hope. And pray.

They kneel in their tents, whispering

Over trembling fingers. Begging the

Thundering heavens for safety,

For peace, for

Freedom.

They pray for the hot-white

Lightning bolts of Zeus. The

Red rage of his siblings. To

Pierce the oppression of

Blue above them. Falling

Onto the splintered Earth.

They pray their dictators

Will be torn apart, just as

They were, and thrown into

A deep, dark pit. Buried

Forever.

But lightning makes no mark

Upon the divided land. Zeus

Does not come. He and his

Siblings have been swallowed,

Swayed. Convinced their ideals

Are pointless, unrealistic,

Fantasy.

And still, the Titans reign.