Mors Dei

These old gods
That die their elaborate deaths
And enter our poisoned forms
Their names have been swept away by 
So many storms and tides of raging rainfall
Their own children, now turncoats
None of our evening fires could warm them now
They are orphaned by the things they made
All things living, all things dead and gone
One by one, this night, they have perished
Into the arms of the ones they claimed to have saved before
Their might and omnipotence a rumour
Hearsay from the mouths of liars
Madmen
Weep, now, for these new-born mortals
These neonates to the suffering they themselves birthed
I stand in mid-stride to reach to help them
Frozen in time, arms never long enough to
Tear them from their compound nightmare
Like a stricken, deranged mother

In the dim light of her long-buried baby's room.