where he failed.

And in his flashes of industry he saw before him a light that was too bright to behold, a ring too hot to touch, and a life too happy to be real.

He tried to speak to the gods with words, which is where he failed, for heaven contains no structure, no syntax and no meter.

Effortfully he attempted to present his existence as a sort of prophecy, a vision deep into the soul of humankind, but what he did not know is that there was never any soul to behold.

And in his flashes of inability he found before him wishes of hope, half-hearted outreachings from those more rigidly in denial, and a fool’s clarity of the world he lives in.

He tried to speak to the gods with words, which is where he failed, for heaven contains no light, no comfort and no eternality.