The household gods of which I classify are in everyone’s abode.

To the Believers they have their altars,

Altered and plain for all to see.

To the Comforters of place and heed,

They arrange and change what they want,

And bring who they can,

To sustain an addiction or need.

To the Artisans who sacrifice alone,

Bringing back gospel and goods and theory;

For those who wander and those who squander

And those that don’t know they need.

The household gods are those we prayed to in the past.

They are within us or without us,

They begin us or finish us,

They are our want, our hope, our need.

Or we can renounce them

And laugh at those that plant the seed.

But I see them; I respect them;

And I know for them to feed,

It requires something of which I have no need.

There were many gods in my house

Before I left them behind.

Some I’ve carried, some I’ve collected,

A few I’ve cast aside:

Valued gods and Worrisome gods and Remnants of gods long past need.

Now I visit other people’s gods:

The Believers and Comforters and Artisans.

Homes that once had gods.

Homes that had many and few.

Homes that house those that never realized they were paying tribute,

In time or mind or matter,

Whether they feared or forsaken or felt that there was no need.

The household gods are there

And they truly are everywhere.

They allow me to see into you,

But I only hope that I am worthy.

Even if they are just in your head or in mine or in everyone else’s.

The household gods are there.

Rejoice! Destroy! Decry! Reincarnate!

The household gods are merely there,

For your want, your addiction or hope, and of course, your need.

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