Atlantean Summer Version One

We have looked
into our crystals and seen
what our forefathers thought to deny us.
The soothsayers proclaim it to be so:

Triumph is our birthright!

Tradition has grown brittle
as last year’s leaves. Soon, it will be
little more than mulch beneath our iron-shod
boots. But still they plead for us to heed them.

How dare they?

We surround ourselves
with gleaming facets, all filled
by our own reflections, the very visage
of victory. Can they not see us for what we are?

We have caged the lightning!