of Gods and Men

Weeping Skies bleed fading light
and sap the moisture from the air,
while gods bemoan their raucous might
the lands are left to mortal care.
 
Mercy sweet sits in her seat
but pays no heed to our despair,
and in her wake the face of Woe,
it slithers from its ancient lair.
 
But who are we to question she,
who knowing what we cannot know,
will mind the void her brothers made
in keeping titans caged below?
 
She cannot keep the joys of sleep,
to venture free escaping pain,
when once again the skies all weep,
the false gods make the heavens rain.
 
And far below the people know
the barren fields are but a taste,
of strife and discord not yet shown
when all the world is laid to waste.
 
And so to Man the gift of life
is most bestowed and most of worth,
and jealous gods all far above
they pray to dwell on mortal earth.