To the Pagan Gods

They'll tell you what they can't do, They'll give you what they don't have- borrowed jewel from a wretched potter: Drunk with penury,drown in poverty. 'I'll give you diverse gift',they'll say: It's better to go on your kneels and pray. Than to get a token of misery, bewitched with foggeries and fallacy, Like a powder blown by the jealous wind- Who couldn't attract pleasant physiognomy. They are: Plate of delicacies embroided with offensive odour, Arranged to serve the 'seekers'- Grinding their faith,polluting their conscience. Ascribed,even set on their table- Not to feed but to get rid of their freedom. Graced with deception,they troop after the delicacies, Over hunger they want to have their seat. Death then takes them captive-even eternal death. Pagan gods aren't gods, Not objects, Not Moulded, But crafted, Even sitted, In the heart- That thing that takes more of your attention. 17:19:17:17:50