I once was worshipped as the Sun-God Ra,
In that age, I was more benevolent,
But today I am, an Indifferent Star,
Heat, (trapped by emissions) grows more violent;
Born long ago - a birth in time afar,
I'm all fusion, and my heat cannot relent;-
So pray to what you will - it does not matter;-
As radiation to the Void, I must scatter.
A basic fractal pattern bought me here,
Generated quantum physics from the Void,
The human plague, I see, my burning sphere,
Does what it must, as fusion is deployed;
My hot ire is now what you all should fear;
And I care not one jot if Earth's destroyed;
If all must perish, because of human greed;
And the far too frequent spreading of his seed.
For in these Universes infinite,
I'm but one, of many trillion here,
There's other life - far more intelligent,
Each spinning 'round their own burning sphere;
The momentum in the System is irrelevant;
And burn, I must, as the Earth must sear;
For all this was started long ago;-
I cannot stop what is now causing woe.
Is there a chance, I won't incinerate,
The human primates, dwelling there below?
Your added gasses, that now incarcerate,
My heat - that melts glaciers, and snow?
The Laws of Physics, are quite inviolate,
And there's nothing I can do, to even slow;
What must burn, with my Atomic Fusion;-
I'm no computer pattern or illusion.
If there's a chance, then Man must act alone,
Take responsibility, for his own actions,
The overpopulated planet now must groan,
Because of Man's more stupid infractions;
There's no point praying to the skies, to moan;-
To beseech a non-existent god's reactions;
Man must face the nightmare he's created;
And his greed - which is never satiated.
For - you see - I'm but an Indifferent Star;
(With just so much hydrogen to helium);
And burn I must - as Man must drive his car;-
My ultraviolet burns his epithelium;
There's a slim chance, my rays, they will not mar;
Those humans to escape my hot delirium;-
Though Man must help himself - that's the principle;
For burn, I must - I cannot help the crucible.
That animals must suffer - it's a shame;
The "Twilight of the Idols"* is at hand;
There's not much hope that Man can raise his game;
Whilst he talks to an Imaginary Friend;
I've been called the Sun-God Ra - it's all the same;
It's time Man faced the Facts - to not pretend;
That a non-existent man, in the skies;-
Would care now, if he lives, or if he dies.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 5
About this poem:* Nietzche