Too frequently now
I become weary of the gods
exhausted from their endlessness,
their cosmic vendettas
and childish jealousy.
I wish not to perceive
any divinity at all in what I see:
only the form, the thing contained
within itself alone, the soulless thing,
hue and shape only,
and to rest my head in my lonely hand,
in my hand which is just human and lonely,
unheld by everything which is not simply palpable.
The world may be beautiful
without the turbulence of the gods.
I have given them far too much import
and now, to quiet them, I wish only to forget them.