programme cover art from the stage play of the same title
God At Ground Zero: Prometheus Reclaiming His Gift
Beyond the earth and sun that day,
Beyond the still waning moon,
Beyond a relative peace of mind entwined in summer’s festoon;
Beyond even a titan discipline lorded over land and sea,
Beyond the bold rebellions of galactic progeny,
Somewhere something had ignited,
First within the mind;
Power self-indicted leaves its virtue well defined.
A spark sent out, consciously but not,
Inevitably found its tinder;
In universal consciousness All became the sender.
And All received the flame, however cursed its grail,
And All entered the ring of fire – the serpent devouring its tail.
Bustling days passed,
Years were made from hours;
Lives were long with pleasure and profit,
And God was touched by towers.
And the flame waited . . .
Its sphere of time unchanged by any measure;
From quiescence it drew its kindle and made fate its buried treasure.
Then, the Promethean Day:
Finally truth to be admitted;
The gaze of one eye viewed billions of hands red with crimes committed.
Pandora’s jar, long since spilled, it too engulfed by flame,
Incinerated its only hope in hope of saving blame.
God’s prescription – the Sun, afire for beneficial insolation;
Apollo even wept for his soul caught in wicked conflagration.
Fear born out and fear besieged, echoes of warfare humming;
The opening salvo answered itself:
“Did you really not know what was coming?”
To near and distant shores it spreads,
The wildfire of Promethean rite;
Retribution meets its own sortie in ubiquity’s zeal to fight.
In this, the civilian is the soldier,
And our homeland is the theatre,
And fire remains the punishing gift searching for a leader.
Terror to tear asunder tests faith upon the rack;
A god could reclaim his gift of fire, but we cannot give it back.
So courage we take in our bare hands, as always has been done;
We give ourselves, body and soul, to victory willed to be won.
Enemies by envy who dragoon the world we share
Are no match for the American familiar to the dare.
The liberties we enjoy are thus the ones we give;
Creation of sweet enmity is part of how we live.
And so it must remain – compassion for the boot;
Beneath envy’s efflorescence is admiration at the root.
With this we enter battle,
With talion to tear apart;
The baldric in supporting the sword holds firmly to the heart.
No tempest or reign of nature, not even mythic deed,
Possesses quite the driving rapture of fired blood prepared to bleed.
Heaven bares and bears its earthly presence in occupation of righteous cause;
Truth’s cool, implicit justice determines mercy’s laws.
Corps of angels advance to lead the allied mortal,
To reconcile his civilian life with its stance before war’s portal.
And as the angels possess us and spirit us to our call,
Acutely we meet again God’s drama within us all.
Even evil was once an angel, hence, salvation’s way is coarse;
Endurance before prevailing orders valor to its source.
Every man, woman, and child is born the hallowed hero
And rises to occasion as God blesses from Ground Zero.
– Mary Jo Magar –