The Gods are too verbose,
Circulating demands
That tie one together
With people still stuck in caves
Or slowly baking in the mud.
I am tired of their voices,
Everything is thunder
And lightening to them.
Give me Nature’s song,
With no demands, only advice,
With a melody that mirrors
Everything there is to see
On the road ahead
That otherwise hides itself
With its own dust.
Journey Down Olympus by Ben Nardolilli
July 11, 2010 by Scot
deuce coupe 
Ben is a twenty four year old writer currently living in Arlington, Virginia. His work has appeared in Houston Literary Review, Perigee Magazine, Canopic Jar, One Ghana One
Voice, Baker’s Dozen, Thieves Jargon, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, Poems Niederngasse, Gold Dust, Scythe, Anemone Sidecar, The Delmarva Review, Underground Voices Magazine, SoMa Literary Review, Gloom Cupboard, Shakespeare’s Monkey Revue, Black Words on White Paper,
Cantaraville, and Mad Swirl. In addition he maintains a blog at
mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.