Man has a choice.
will write the pages of the next thousand years?
it be peace and harmony with nature and ourselves
in a glorious utopian paradise?
will there only be more bloodshed and violence
we fall into the chasm
our own making?
will our star fall from its lofty height?
new stars will replace us?
they pave their roads with us
we with those before?
will be new Ozymandias statues
and worn like the old.
will come to sing our song?
muse hasn’t told me.
only report what comes to my fingers.
muse tells me only what has been written.
she says this,
only the prologue to an even greater story.