She wept; I have birthed the sky, with it, the sea but still I find not one to comfort me. There are endless pits of nowhere in the land that has become. I have lost the gift of the battle of virtue in an attempt to give. In an attempt to create and flourish; feeding the greens, and the blues, and the colors and the wonders and the promise that tomorrow always comes. Prometheus, Prometheus, oh, where have you gone? Don’t you see what they’ve become? You’ve hidden, you coward, come face what you’ve done.