'Tis hauntingly fantastic, the divides
Of time and mind between my generation
And that of my grandfathers' and grandmothers'.
The ship's sails have turned to steel propellers,
Spun by wrought iron machines, and further,
Beyond the next frontier, rocket engines,
In their awe inspiring, sonic glare.
Far off galaxies, light years away
Telescopes drawn in, searching for planets,
Perhaps new life will be found, if not alien,
Then breeding grounds for our childrens'
Childrens' childrens' childrens' children.
For unless our spawn turns against us all
Technology will never fade away.
Time and space are the God which will replace
That deemed holy, no longer able to save face.
There was once a man who was made God's son,
Now we see our God is indeed the infernal, raging Sun.