Did we miscalculate the final meridian,
our compass failing its magnitude?
Have we lost our bearings,
our sense of morality,
When did the path of hope
become a trail of tears, a trial without peers?
We are bound by our histories,
reduced to ash by our discovery of fire.
This is our final testament,
our futile plea for mercy
when we have shown none ourselves.
How arrogant we were
to think we could conquer
and survive its significance.
How swiftly we cast off our wings
and our claim to innocence with them,
forgetting how we once flew -
did we learn nothing from Icarus or Narcissus?
Did we close our eyes and ears to the cries of Psyche and Eros,
thinking we knew better than they?
How droll - how quaint -
how ancient we've become.