Olympus lies

He hunts in twilight, not in light,

Draws the young like moths to night.

Whispers sweet, then steals their fire,

Calls it worship, cloaks desire.

Feathers fall from stolen wings,

He crowns himself while silence sings.

Keeps their youth inside a cage,

Says it’s art—just masks the rage.

Wine flows, but so does fear,

He calls them stars, but keeps them near.

They shrink while he becomes divine—

A god who feeds on borrowed time.

Golden robes but hands unclean,

He walks like power, dreams obscene.

And still they cheer, still they chant,

Blind to what the gods enchant.