Prometheus Ends in Onan

There are those for whom terror is the best god Past invoked from the sacrificial pit of the present The false foundations of palsied certainties Firing at dials to stop the day Look how your earth is withering Worn out like a garment What was foreseen long ago now cannot be believed Long-haired Apollo emerges from the cask of Seleucia The altar of victory is hidden away The newborn ground gives way to death The vine fails The olive tree cheats us The burning field withers Our bones are dry, Our hope is drained, We are cut off