Alexander III
02-27-2012, 12:00 PM
We belong to an age, to this age:
The old Pantheon lies crumbling with ivy. It's Gods are now forgotten, all but a few, who remain to monopolize the lives and devotion of men. Honor has been exiled, so Money is left unquestioned to sprawl himself on the throne; and Love like Hamlet weeping at Cladius' stone court, must pace in silence. Beauty was left to drown within the Serpentine, as men in straw boaters softly whistled during their promenande around the park. Her Altar remained empty like a fireless tombstone, until Artifice crawled upon the alter and crafted her nest there.
This is an age of its own kind. This is the sad and lonely age we have inherited. This is the sad and lonely age which all previous generations knew they had inherited; and all future generations shall find this age a curse unique to them.
This is the fertile crescent which mankind was thrusted upon, as it always will be and as it always was.
The old Pantheon lies crumbling with ivy. It's Gods are now forgotten, all but a few, who remain to monopolize the lives and devotion of men. Honor has been exiled, so Money is left unquestioned to sprawl himself on the throne; and Love like Hamlet weeping at Cladius' stone court, must pace in silence. Beauty was left to drown within the Serpentine, as men in straw boaters softly whistled during their promenande around the park. Her Altar remained empty like a fireless tombstone, until Artifice crawled upon the alter and crafted her nest there.
This is an age of its own kind. This is the sad and lonely age we have inherited. This is the sad and lonely age which all previous generations knew they had inherited; and all future generations shall find this age a curse unique to them.
This is the fertile crescent which mankind was thrusted upon, as it always will be and as it always was.