Of Imagination

How devastating to be
A genre destroyed by fact.

So many stories once told
Of magical human flight

In contraptions, on the backs
Of supernatural birds

Or dragons, of immortals,
Prophets, and kings like Kavus

Who flew to angelic realms
And shot arrows at the sky.

The genre required magic
And ignorance of the clouds,

But was highly flexible
In morals and conclusions.

Some flew up and became gods
Or at least never came down.

Some became frequent flyers
And did many miracles.

Others suffered for hubris
With death or simple regret,

Like Kavus feeling foolish,
Crash-landing in a thicket.

And now what? Governments send
Routine flights past the heavens,

And the obscenely wealthy
Show off in private rockets,

And commoners coast the clouds
That hid the wondrous angels,

And no one pays attention
To fables promising flights.