Inflated, then, by hubris, wholly blinded by conceit:
He thinks he strides the way of truth with science at his feet
But while he’s thus employed – the old faiths gone, with all their kind –
He’s had new myths creep up on him
That fully own
His mind
I am amazed by the sheer volume and regularity of your lyrical output.
Are you free from the time constraints of work – or do you compose your poems during a normal 8-hour day? Perhaps you are you a poetic machine rather than a human being?
No, although I’m killing myself writing this much. I do have a job, a family, a(n old) dog… I tend to write really quickly, so that helps… or hurts… depending on who you ask.