Post-Modern Prometheus

Henceforth I whimper no more
Wrapped in fennel cast in fire
Waxing agony our singular pleasure
These bones long to return to the earth

Born dead
Threadbare
Lackluster
It never gets better

Hopeless
Forgotten
Foreshadowed
Better off in the ground

Dictum factum
Said and done
Necks crane rain dance
What have we done?
One look in the black mirror
Rеveals our grotesque proportions

Flеsh falls from the bone
And the seed begins to grow
We will reap what we’ve sown
As above so below

Lay your fears before
The altar of progress
Witness the glory
Behold the grandeur
All that’s left
Can fit in the palm of your hands

Dictum factum
Said and done
Necks crane rain dance
What have we done?
One look in the black mirror
Reveals our grotesque proportions
Tempus fugit
This is the first of ten thousand positions

These corresponding offerings have become obsolete
These patterns tend to repeat
Time heals nothing

Flesh falls from the bone
And the seed begins to grow
As above so below
We will reap what we’ve sown