Tomb upon tombs, no trees at the stone of the effigy,
No wind to blow the candle; fire stood still; life
Eviscerated
Motionless; the creaking sound of the handle and the freezing
Cold.
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
G.
andreanum & co 