The gods are not who they once were. 

Athena is not hidden away in a library. She is in the streets, holding signs among those demanding their education, lighting the fire in their eyes and the spark in their hearts.

Persephone is not tucked away in a meadow making daisy chains. She is on the steps of the courthouse calling for environmental reforms, tears streaming down her face as she begs them to stop killing her creation. 

Aphrodite is not in the marriage bed. She is sitting on the bathroom floor, holding a broken girl as she sobs, teaching her to love her body with all its scars and stretch marks.

Poseidon is not riding a mariner’s ship across a gentle sea. He is walking a lonely shore choked with plastic straws and oil spills, feeling the slow, steady death of all that lives within his waters. 

Demeter is not plowing grain in a secluded field. She is holding the hand of the woman who was just told that the in vitro fertilization failed again, promising her that she will be blessed with the child her heart so longs for. 

Ares is not standing victoriously over a battlefield. He is tiredly walking through the burning rubble of a war-ravished city, wondering when war became for profit. 

Zeus is not sitting atop his golden throne, proudly watching mankind thrive. He is hanging his head, seeing his own conflicts replayed before him in their lives, and he thinks to himself, “Why can they not see? When will they learn?” and knowing, just like his own, they never will. 

The gods are not who they once were.