On A Builder’s Lament

I invoke no muse,
Her sweet whispers do betray
Listen, you smaller gods,
For you, I no longer pray.

I build for your troops,
Castles, hovels, and all other spots
But hollow idols you are,
For ample reward you give me not.

I build for your troops
Swords, shields, chariots, and spears
But so blind you are, cruelly,
To my quiet hidden tears.

I come to this Mount place
Not to proclaim, preach, or praise,
But to make right,
The truth, now I will raise.

There are no more prayers,
No more songs or pretty phrase,
Your impotence is now public
Your sanctuary is soon razed.

I build for your troops
But no never more,
Clap, clap, my thunder
Tremble like me before.

I toss Poseidon’s ships,
Along the rocks quickly smashed,
Broken.
Broken.

Clap, clap, my thunder!
Odysseus knows not my pain.
My journey is longer,
For whom do I build, my constant refrain.

False prophets, all of you,
The whole lot, I cannot stand
Liars, thieves, and cheats
Clap my thunder, again!

Hide yourself no more
Lesser and lesser gods, all alone.
Your Mount is now mine,
I am on the throne.

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