That Man Who Lit a Lantern
Is there any up and down left?
Has it not become colder?
Have we not killed him
and now,——-
Shall we console ourselves?
What festivals of atonement,
what sacred games,
ought we to have invented?
Have we not ourselves
become gods?
I threw my lantern
to the ground.
It broke and went out.
The deed is nigh,
no longer distant
as the stars.
Too late too late
to sing
the requiem.
(With apologies to Nietzsche, The Gay Science) The Parable of the Madman
