The Ancients

We expect our Gods to be immortal.
We create them to endure millennia.
Long after we have forgotten.
Long after we have found new names.
They remain.
They become the ancient ones.
The Gods before Gods
How lonely must they be?
How broken are their hearts?
They were loved, feared, worshipped.
Now, no one even knows their name.
Do they sleep? Do they rage? Do they weep?
I raise my glass in a toast
Here's to the ancient ones
May you sleep deeply and dream of better days