My ancestors kept lighthouses to guide ships at sea safely to harbors, their bounty to share. My people light the skies of night hoping that one ship piloting the cosmos will return to save us. The seas gone, the forests no more, no animals other than man, this rock our home abhors.
Flee, they said. Flee, they called from far away, their great ships ready to save us. Their price a change in our ways.
But we would not, we could not, for their price was to admit mistakes and in all the universe Pride is the meaning of man. We the Garden lost twice, chose the Serpent's bite until our own ways poisoned us.
Return, we called. Return, we begged to unhearing skies.
These last lights, our hope, I keep them lit. The last of my kind, the last Adam.
No ships are seen. We learn too late our lights, our cries, keep them away, warn them we are here, fools to our own devices, Salvation's price too high.