A ship thrown in space, fueled by a race, at the dawn of our imagination
Catching in its white wake and turbulence, all of our ocular passion
On a small screen; to believe in something else than a cold war,
In old dreams such as joining the Levant with the Occident of before.

“O” Apollo, when you threw your chariot into the heaven without its swans,
Apollon Musagetes, did you know despite the ambiguity of your muses and signs,
Regardless of planting a flag at the heart of the virgin field of Selene,
That our starry dreams would fall under the eternal sleep of Endymion?
We forgot, by embracing the surface of our imagination,
In order to lull the depths and reaches of our passion,
The desire to conquer Ares; instead offering him war and submission.

It was a ship that rose to the heavens on the pure sound of a serenade
Opening a new frontier that soon closed on the sound of a ballad,
Punctuated by the hymns of nations; fear marching at the rhythm of a parade.

What is left of this small step for man at the twilight of the imaginary?
What have we done with this giant leap for mankind? But misery,
This ship has fallen back down in the trenches of war and history!


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