marching down the year

the stories of dead gods now have no weight
the strength of infant mithras does not matter
we think today only of an abstract fate
all talk of gods is naught but idle chatter
yet once women and men were caught in fear
at names that now we do not recognise
nyame himself might make shift to appear
and terror fill his startled creatures' eyes
but now we've got no god but savage reason
who tells us what we are and does not lie
who does not charge with heresy nor treason
but simply stares us down straight in the eye
the season that we face is the year's turning
and for dead gods we find we have no yearning