The mottled gray
of a fallen God
lies skewed across
bleach-white sand.
It reaches toward
the far off castle
with its
non-existant hand.
The people he ruled
fell away,
cutting the strength
from under him.
Now he sits
and watches idoly
and buttering waves
role in.
His loyal people
found a new home,
with flashy
overrated play.
The precious thoughts,
the toughts of old.
Were lost
to mediocrity.
The zombie hordes
of human shells
no longer turn for
his guidance.
The fallen God
that was once the mind,
is now the prey
of arrogance.
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