The world is sewn together
With the faded golden thread
From mere men who dove down
To the depths of the Underworld
And battled the Fates for godhood.
Now, we call them Presidents
And Chancellors and Councilors,
Prime Ministers and senators,
Resting from battles with Titans
On the high peak of Mt. Olympus.
Years of rest and wealth wear down
The godly visage of political saviors,
Chipping away the strong chins
And bronze faces, sharp jaw lines
Of mythological heroes.
They look like Hades now,
Underneath their clever masks,
Letting the seams at the edge of the world
Fray and wither with time, still
Holding on against the strain of Man.