The lone philosopher stared into the sky.
Out of the mist came a Wagnerian dream…
Mythical beasts are slain and empires arise.
The shedding of blood, the bloodshed, anoints the dream.
Many die in umpteen wills to power.
But don’t let this concern you.
You are beyond the scummy multitude
Which dreams it own petty dreams.
Nothing more than rungs up the ladder to power.
This club-footed bag of nerves was called Nietzsche.
He sublimated well his sad state with words so masculine
They still take weak and inferior souls by storm.
Zit-faced students baptise themselves into paperback-Nietzsche
And find it a better option than terrace rucks or Iraq.
Yes, just like the teens who leaf through Judge Dread
To find a world in which they can stand proud.