Poets of thought
You have turned down all our myths
And squandered us back to the world with our naked humanity
That is to say without a hope.
But by complaining
None of those myths will be recovered from their ashes.
So what is next for us?
Bring the world back to a time before this time
Or seek out the ashes searching for at least a still warm
Fable
Perhaps invent ourselves from scratch to become the same?
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