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Dead End Earth
I stand on the edge of a broken world, looking down:
A younger time, when it was flat and full
The kind that used to be natural and sure.
Well, I stand at the four corners
Of the earth,
And I wonder certain things about it, staring
Into the abyss
And trying not to fall off the edge.
That arrives seems to build a bridge,
Here and There,
The edge of this world and the next.
How can one be sure if there even is
Suppose it's a dead end, and when I reach it
I'll simply stop
Well, suppose the bridge went somewhere, okay?
Just for a second.
Let me tell you the thoughts that built this bridge,
And walk with me,
On this path, if you will....
Back when the earth had magick, and people had
It was easy to see the end in sight, easy
To see the light.
...But now that the world is round,
And magick so
Easily explained by men in lab coats,
Is there left to discover—
But whether or not
The bridge still connects to anything or
Is even there?
Or maybe once mankind decided that science could replace,
Something as old as time,
Under the sheer irrelevance and hopelessness
Of this brand new
And yet the thing "we did not need"
That we managed to kill and destroy, to block
The Other Side
And create our own dead end,
In the end,
Killed us too?
Now what sort of logic is that?
And I'll humor you—I just don't see the point,