Nature falters in shame at the coming of the torch.
The stars avert their eyes from the chosen
(whom have brought upon all the dreaded mirror of insufficiency)
clothing Gaea in black. She screams in horror
at the goblins in her hair; the little parasites
she enabled to lay her bare. At the approach
she tears her flesh and clothes herself in ash,
ready to hide, yet not to run, from the magnifier that shall soon arrive.
The attempts are futile and naive, but at least nature sees;
for the will of man, who suffers in fire and runs through darkness,
refuses to bow before that which comes; choosing ‘I’ over eye;
leaving all to die in the lost void of that mist which holds no wonder.
All say, ‘Shame is weakness, and therefore ignore.
Self-doubt is foolish, and therefore be dumb.’;
Therefore none ask, ‘Why should we reject the torch which will cauterize
the gaping wound that fits the shape of our own swords?’