Remorseless sun stunts the dew
Glistening towers of tainted glass
ignite and blister in blood-yellow light
recalling the tallest of crumbling tombs
as humbler graves harbor their dead
in the clutches of earth and callous night
The past is draining through inhuman dreams
no people are packing backrooms and bars
no pride or empire rises on ruins
no glance at a face gleans what is fair
Everyone senses evil has come
The world we knew will not be renewed
and gods of technology are graceless and numb
We call for a hero but just hear recordings
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
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