Choruses from Longinus
We waited, in the darkness and the chill.
We waited, and it was night.
For us, it has been night forever:
a block of darkness--solid, frozen,
and we, encased inside it, waiting.
In the beginning, the earth was waste and void,
and in the middle, the earth is waste and void.
And in the end?
Well, we wait,
and darkness is upon the face of the deep.
Not long ago--
a week, two thousand years, not long,
we thought the light had come at last.
We praised it;
we waved palms before it--
and then we noticed that it rode upon a donkey.
That was his hour, the hour upon an ass,
and now that sun has set.
If that was light, we do not comprehend it;
light for us must be solemn, lofty,
conforming to the noble darkness in our souls.
Give us a darkened light, and we will grasp it.
But he taught us, nonetheless, and now we know.
We learned from him not to trust in stories;
legends visible mock the sword that issues from their mouths.
He taught us that a legend is no more than symbol,
Telling in pictures the power within ourselves.
And now we look no more to hope, but action,
and wait no longer but create the world
unto the image and likeness of mankind.
The myth has lost its grip and shown our strength.
Now is the hour of man, and the power of darkness.