I want to be a myth,
a great tale,
an epic battle
against good and evil
from which people draw lessons,
and take notes,
and on which they write papers.
And as they admire and criticize
behind the cascade of time
and under the symbol of the word
I weep real tears
and I go on living my mythical life
so far away from reality
but no less true.
It’s hard to be a myth.
You have to endure
the trampling of feet as time
ushers in a new day, year, era—
And Change with its child Difference,
Ferocious beasts with sharp, pitiless eyes—
That scrutinize my mythical body.
Am I still true?
And when they approve, I am so happy.
I am a myth!
So splendid and true in my ideals,
But no less false.