In Memory Of Nietzsche

The preachers of death transmit an Emaciated, trembling, pale divinity. Their piety kills creative life forces. Their beliefs & dogmas are outdated. Some need a crutch while bolder others Are looking for a ladder to the stars. I await the birth of a new god: A roaring Dionysian genius. The fragile power of cold institutions old or new Are no match for the prophets or poets' fiery words. For the former enforcers are involved in reducing consciousness; Whereas the latter creators are inspired to expand it. We need to worship the beauty of the rose; Not the steely merits of the skyscraper. We need to breathe in fresher air; Not Modernity's stale poisons. We need to be reborn and thrive In green hills, wild woods and pastures And leave soul destroying, decadent, Grey urban centres far behind.