What if it’s true?

What if our ancestors weren’t all liars?

Can they be? All of them? Liars?

What’s that say of us?

Are our fathers truly

so ignorant to spend their time

creating mere fables encased in stone

and gold, so that we, their children

should have their lies and stories

instead of their history?

Perhaps, but it is worth thought

—— should our future children think we lie about all our ways today?

Our fathers shown

the gods came down to them,

mingled with their daughters,

made sons in their image, rulers

who had powers over mortal man

like lightning and gold or fire

the depths of the sea, death

and life, and life again, and strength

to make monoliths, artistry to baffle

mankind and steal their hearts

They made our father’s fall down

to worship and to give poems, epics

and murals, statues and festivals

for the glory of they, the lesser gods

who finally then lost their reign

by the ruling of Truth —— which like

they, our old gods, we call fantasy and lies

we call our father’s records

artifice and foolishness,

their tales; simple jests

their legacies; mere legends

their hearts; only lies

— we rotten children