The ambrosia has evaporated, as well as their ruling.
Once titans, insects have dissolved to annoyances.
They pay patronage to People,
those who walk the earth in their shadow.
The moths eats their clothes in the dark,
a cult that excitedly consumes articles of their wardrobe
in the hopes that they get their strength,
and are no longer limited by their cinnamon-dusted wings.
The worms follow them blindly under their feet,
noting the evolution of the gods as they venture deeper through Existence.
The cicadas are the secretaries,
taking account of the casualties
accrued from the Pantheon;
Thylacine,
White Rhino,
Dragons,
seeding their spirits into the earth like teeth,
allowing their souls to rest deep in the mouth of the Earth.
Ants anxiously pray as they leave their tunnels,
praying for safe passage as they collect crumbs
from the gods on their pilgrimage.
A foot gives a wide berth to a focused ant,
gentle hands release lightning bugs after having their light for a moment,
these are members of the Pantheon, who don’t go mad with their power,
killing just because it is easy too.
There is a strength in mercy,
a belief they exercise as they help unwind spider silk from a trapped ladybug
or shelter a butterfly with shredded wings.