Twilight of the Idols

We are all atheists about most of the gods that humanity has ever believed in. Some of us just go one god further. – Richard Dawkins

In an Egyptian crypt, deep underground,
lies a shattered effigy of Osiris,
guardian of the netherworld.
But there’s no one to usher into the afterlife,
and the relentless wind of the Sahara
scours the landscape above, erasing all but time.

From an ancient temple perched above the Aegean,
a towering statue of Poseidon once surveyed
the turquoise waters of his kingdom.
His triton, held by a muscular arm,
summoned magic and power.
But all that remains are weathered columns
and scattered pieces in museums,
while the waves crash below,
grinding the coastline to sand.

On a sun-scoured rock of a Coloradan mesa,
an image of Kokopelli is barely visible,
his back hunched, holding his slender flute.
Once the blesser of crops and human fertility,
his music is muted forever,
and no one dances in the ruins of the Ancient Ones.

A family leads their daughter to the cathedral’s altar
on the day of her first communion.
None of them see that time, coming soon,
when the chalice is shattered,
the bread a fossilized crust.
And twilight slowly dims to black
outside the fractured stained-glass windows.