Variation on a Theme by Goethe

Here I recline,
Undoing men,
Those of my own image,
My own race, in a subtle sense:
Those that suffer, weep,
Delight, rejoice,
And rebel, as I do.
Perhaps you believe
I find life dreadful,
And in a wilderness of my own
Construction,
I coax my dreams into cheery blossoms?
Should I respect you,
Paltry zeuses,
Self-proclaimed gods of slender existence?
Did you ever extend a kindness,
A courtesy,
Or cease your mocking for an instant?
When I was a tadpole,
Insouciant, naive,
I would lift my eyes to the glitterball heavens,
Awaiting salvation from on high . . .
My savior in denim and musk never came.
You beautiful deities feed on envy,
Indulgently pissing on beggarly mortals,
Those not on par with your lofty refinement;
You'd starve for attention but for such acolytes!
And so I demur and deny you grandeur:
I'll not ever bow to you,
Fog-shrouded despots!