Then came the never ending tears. Washed
away the memory of your existence. Which god did you say you were? The clerics
became the sceptics, those that once served became rulers themselves. This is
how power migrates. From one tyrant to the other. Inside we are all the same. In
our unappeasable hatred we yell obscenities, words that curse your existence, doubt
your divine power. Casually that which you provide is thrown back at you.
Stealing from the gods made easy with an unabashed conscience. We laugh at fear
and hold our own thought to a mystical standard. Every man is a god, every
thought a teaching. This is when we are equal. Fuck you, Prometheus. Fuck you,
Ramses. No god of ancient Greece ,
no god of Egypt ’s
sun tells us what to do.
When will we ever learn? Have you felt it
too? Felt that those who speak today have no words of truth? No kindness, no wisdom
to guide the wandering spirits. Those who claim that they are the likes of graceful
gods of the past, kind rulers of ancient worlds are nothing more but deceiving,
shrivelled souls. Liars. They are not builders of monumental ornaments nor are
they keepers of warming elixirs to sooth the bruises. In these times we must
brace ourselves. The lights are dimming, the heat is slowly disappearing. Dress
the soul with warmness, or else it will catch its death. Not in the unending
desert. Not in the mountains that reach the sun itself. Not when we have a
protector from sky to earth, sea to sand!
I cannot move you. You play with fire, you
play with sand. Each god to its own. Each tyrant to its own methods of tyranny.
I cannot erase the memory of Ramses, of Prometheus. There you were, holding the
flame. Your magnificent torso glowing in an orange hue. The wind helping you
keep the fire alive. Then the wink and I see you reach down to hand us the
flame. It was that easy? Then the pain to endure. In the backdrop of the
setting sun, with the Nile quietly flowing
there appeared the familiar coloured scenery. Homogenously light. With one hand
held out hundreds fell to their deaths or found themselves elevated. You were
no just ruler, no accomplice to the greatness of the human spirit. You have
moved me Prometheus. You have moved me Ramses.
Had we known the end, we would not have
seen sense in the beginning. We no longer know how to move blocks of rock with
our bare hands. We will never set the world on fire. In this fading light we
now know what we have learnt from you. To endure. To question. To create. To
find adventure in discovery. To never break under the weight of responsibility.
To burn always Prometheus. To build always Ramses.
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