The Dying God

A mortal with ambition so bold, Dreams of divinity to unfold. A quest for power he does implore, To reach the top and be forevermore.

He yearns for grace and endless might, A force that shines with endless light. He craves for worship and adoration, A ruler of worlds, beyond imagination.

But little does he know the cost, The burden of such power that is lost. For with it comes the endless strife, The constant struggle, the endless life.

The weight of worlds rests on his shoulders, With every decision, he grows bolder. But every action has a consequence, And as a god, he must be hence.

So now he stands, with power in hand, A conqueror, in his own land. But with each step, his feet do shake, As he realizes, this was a mistake.

For being a god, is not a game, It brings no joy, only endless shame. It's not the power that he sought, But the love and respect, that he has lost.

And so he stands, in all his might, A mortal still, in the eyes of sight. For in his heart, he knows the truth, That true divinity lies in youth.