Daduchos

Our world is dying.
The gates have fallen.
The home-front lost.
No more can we tell friend from foe.

Our leaders are well-heeled parasites.
We lift fools up high and give them crowns,
if only they entertain us with their foolishness.

We admire nothing more than the mimic,
the successful imposter.
For we all feel imposters now.

We hold firm our faith in nihilism.
We pray that life has no meaning,
for we cannot bear the thought
that we have squandered it.

We still want to believe in the good story:
the chosen people,
the one true savior,
the master race,
the classless society,
the singularity,
the light fantastic.

We bear aloft these idols.
We nail ourselves to these crosses.
The Gods look down and laugh, and weep.

With increasing frenzy the masses rush the edge.
They do not know why, but they love the feel of falling.
They have lost the taste for stillness.

Once men fought for glory, then God, then the abstract good.
What will they fight for now?
What has this world given them worth fighting for?

A world is the conquest of earth by heaven.
A world is made by fighting men carrying the banner of love.
A world is born in fire, ends in fire, is reborn in fire.

This world is dying.
Pick up your torch.

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