Suddenly, the gods are missing,
The people are everywhere.
Those that were circumspect
Seem to have shed their fear.
Thunder from the pulpit
Is a shriek and a shout,
A howl and a wounded plea
From traumatic loss of clout.
When little men come to knowledge
Of persistent subterfuge,
The affront liberates their cowering souls
Into the power of deluge.
What had seemed invincible
Becomes a pack of cards;
They come to look like mannequins
That strutted like gods.
Hang on, dear people, everywhere,
Oppressions have little sway
Unless we choose to be befooled
By the trickster of the day.
Do not give the found-out gods
Excuse of violent wrath.
Walk in peace and shared truth
A democratic path.
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