All the Giants

A short poem about the loss of one's heroes,

All the Giants

All the giants have fallen.
They’ve gotten down on their knees.
They’re begging the skies for mercy.
But nobody cares or sees.

The wee children have caught them.
They put them all in jail.
The children have no pity.
All pleas are doomed to fail.

Grief has taken all of our futures.
And left us here with none.
They said we weren’t deserving.
They said that we were done.

We searched far into the future.
We searched wide into the past.
Someone sane, please help us.
How dare we hope to last?

Now the giants are dying.
They bleed into the ground.
They are no longer trying.
Their tears don’t make a sound.

Nothing healthy grows from neglect.
Nothing grows at all.
As though they were never here.
Nor ever made the call.

Now, no one is watching us.
Nobody seems to care.
We’re hiding out in dungeons.
We’re bunkered under stairs.

The gold has all been stolen.
But that doesn’t seem to matter.
There’s no one here to spend it.
The survivors have all scattered.

Now we’re eating our leaves.
They’ve broken all of the branches.
They cut down all of the trees.
And mown down all our chances.