My Human Disguise.
Why did the ancient deities foul things so much?
They’re like the bully who kicks a crippled child’s crutch,
Then helps him up only to knock him down again,
And so the war dragged on for not one year, but ten.
Because of gods, we can’t know what really happened.
Did an arrow in a heel really spur Troy’s end?
Could one adulteress’s Aphroditic beauty
Destroy a nation’s sense of honor and duty?
The wooden horse was a tribute to Athena,
That two headed she-serpent, that amphisbaena,
Whose fangs struck brave men down each day, score upon score,
Who loved neither enemy much, only the war.
Now no one interferes with man’s love of bloodshed.
We’re on our own. Athena, Aphrodite? Dead.
