Without blood sacrifice, no God can kill.
We built our temple around his living form,
Left space for him to breathe our sullen prayers,
Room to move around us, and a plot
To bury our dead inside his edifice.
Walking now around the ruins, it seems
No Atlas bears the monument to Atlas.
We wonder at their wonder, years ago,
Take pictures of the grooves around the altar
Where death and worship drained from animals.
Yet the temple stands. We cannot tear it down:
We built our roads around it, kept it there
As a landmark, for our cities and our speech.
And talking to the fellow at the bar
Who swears to god there is no God to swear to,
And in his absence speaks the one true name
Of a hollow god, we emptily Amen.