Perhaps the gods had a say
hearing mortal’s mournful bray
echoed in at the giant’s feet
these specs of dust now uncontrite

assuming purpose where there is none
shake a fist to be heard
still the mortals raise a chant
shattering nothing except themselves

upon the rocks of hubris
by avenues of power’s grace
creation asks for nothing less
than for man to reside within

this expectation rules supreme
stamped in gold upon the page
saying nothing in response
cast to whimper in echoes' face

to a cosmos that cares not
arraying outcomes that are denied
when the winds begin to blow
a deeper silence is then heard.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181108.