A dying kin

Tomb upon tombs, no trees at the stone of the effigy,

No wind to blow the candle; fire stood still; life


Motionless; the creaking sound of the handle and the freezing


So old was man. So bitter. His days unnumbered

Matched by the sands of the desert

And like the desert his numbers were, the ant of God

No builder of anthills, only carcasses for eternity

Cathedrals of a dying kin, vast symphonies of stone

For man’s awareness made man so alone

No echo of his wits in all the Universe. God left.

Rebuild God from the Sands! And make God’s hands lay dormant

On man’s forehead. Make man in sin, so God can stay for longer

The eater of the ants, the layer of the hands

Please make God stronger!

When only stone remains of madness’ testimony

When only carvings bare are words for mark of man

Look back at all the glory and think of it as

Sand, the dying breath of life in life’s own agony

And purposelessness covers the edge of the unknown

Our dying kin of starlight

Our kin is coming home


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