The great myth of these days
Is that the good gods have gone
Into some cloud-cuckoo land
Divinities reduced to metaphors
Or we get as far as angels
Before we start to lose our nerve
Sensing how much vaster
The invisible will take us
Beyond this apprehensible world
Shrinking back to being small
As atoms whirling in a jar
But even if it does exist my star
Attentive to my every need
I turn my back on them at times
And on my freedom I insist
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