New Odyssey
There lived a woman on the edge of the horizon with hair like a dream.
Her eyes became obscured by dusk and a poetry poured out of her mouth,
more terrible than any evil.
Time, it would have seemed, had turned its course, civilization was nearing its fall.
Machines replaced oceans, flowers took the shape of steel.
Love calcified, like a concrete cast.
Everything took the form of figures, almost completely deprived of life.
Passion was drowned out.
The clock keeps ticking,
but can it bear the weight of transience?