In a Way, They Had No Choice

The gods’ own weapons don’t resemble yours.
You can smirk at the scripts of the old priests
Invoking divine spears, axes, and swords,
But all you’ve got’s your own analogies
For violence and annihilation.

The gods, to the extent there are gods, are
So much more subtle than your hydrogen,
Your killer satellites in the heavens.
Not even the plagues you’ve always given
Gods credit for are weapons. The weapons

Of the gods are not weapons. The weapons
Of the gods, their own true weapons, are thoughts
That this would all make sense, all this hunger
And sorrow would make sense, if only you
Behaved better or knew who to appease.