where the writers are
The City of No

In the maul of Ihknaton,

Wending the great hypostle pall,

The bearded prince in blind pursuit

Hunts revelations now irresolute. 

Where mushroom-jeweled Seti rations

Judgement on the hypaethral,

The fabled adversaries pause,

While She bears youth within her fluent jaws. 

The long suspended confrontation

Consecrates the ancient thrall.

"The answer was Man."                                               

                                                "It was", from the Beast,

As She  slouches to the inevitable Feast.

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Echoes of Shelley and Ozymandias

but much more...the dark side of Revelation, the fearfully distorted reflection of the good side. A warning.

"The answer was Man."

Thankfully, God thought so, too.

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The Second Comingish

Yes - and Yeatsian also - I stole slouches from him.