Prometheus, I Have No Titan's Might, Yet

Tomorrow Changes The Face Of Reality.

Beauty In This Iron Age Must Turn, From Fluid Living Rainbow Shapes To Torn, And Sootened Fragments, Ashes In An Urn, On Whose Gray Surface Runes Are Traced By A Norn, Who Hopes To Wake The Future To Arise, In Phoenix-fashion, And To Shine With Rays, To Blast The Sight Of Modern Men Whose Dyes, Of Selfishness And Lust Have Stained Our Days...

Yes, We Hope To Seed A New, Rich Earth. We Hope To Breed A Race Of Men Whose Power Dwells In Hearts As Open As All Space Itself, Who Ask For Nothing But The Light That Rinses The Heart Of Hate So That The Stars Above Will Be Below When Man Has Love.

The Truth Is That Trout, Like Vonnegut And Ray Bradbury And Many Others, Writes Parables. These Are Set In Frames Which Have Become Called, For No Good Reason, Science Fiction. A Better Generic Term Would Be 'future Fairy Tales'. And Even This Is Objectionable, Since Many Science Fiction Stories Take Place In The Present Or The Past, Far And Near.

Caught Beauty , Held To Light, Now Apes A Good, Now Evil, Thing The Shifting Sign And Spectrum Of Archaic, Psychic Shapes.