Helios On Schedule

The silk lines billow far out in the thin sky saturated with light blue sunshine. I hold them together in my left fist on my hi-tech chariot; my right hand twists and we are loose from earth. The silken lines undulate over continents; gallop the golden stallions as I observe the people releasing the flavours of their foods the clench of cereals, the delights of fruit, the iron of flesh, the sere of burnt blood coming to me in a gracious sine curve. It seems nothing has changed much since the first chariot chase; men still do not look me straight in the face, building dynasties on the sherds of others, constructing palaces to supply the noble rubble on which to found new fallacies.