The gods are dying

Mid the smell
of sheep dung
came the song.

The gods are dying.
The gods of men are dying.

Self-shaped objects
of worship crumble,
beginning a funeral
dance, a danse macabre
of Athens and Jerusalem.

The gods are dying.
The gods of men are dying.

A funereal keening
pours from stone lips.
Wealth, knowledge, science,
philosophy are sucked into
mirrors of polished vanities.

The gods are dying.
The gods of men are dying.

A child born.
A son given.
Salvation.

Over at the High Calling, a poetry prompt (well, partially a poetry prompt) is asking readers to take a big thing of Christmas – family, Christ, celebration, grief and so forth – and share it in something small, like a poem, a photo, a Bible verse or a song. Check and post and see some of the offerings provided via links in the comment section.

Photograph: Statue of the death of Adonis.