Post by merkyone on Feb 10, 2011 9:30:42 GMT -5
Reaching out with rough hands to the watching angel we're torn from our blue sky,
the Cities arise from Ruins of the past,
small black hexes set forth from a plan for demise
and each contained within a past space,
collided planets and clustered stars, I see and feel a moon
so close I can touch it,
its strange light guiding ancient races from graves long forgotten,
data fluxes pulse from Eden
and the Library door opens to reveal true fate to us all,
we the wasted population,
all reduced by our own to Carbon specters, wandering,
long since we lost sight of why we abandoned our garden for these plains and suns full of life,
we need not be saved
for the Master has upon us set his ephemeral wisdom,
he knows as should we that it is for the best that we join our lives
in this last glimpse and breath to breathe the salvation
of our cosmic heaven descending on this, our imperceptible impression of life;
yet this judgement day is not a sentence,
Mother her children not as punishment yet only by divine reason
which by simplistic design we are not to realize...
Only one knows our fate,
the one who is the key, the Trigger beneath the finger of the apocalypse,
he knows that life is not a river,
life is the bridge crafted by gods to foreign tempting meadows,
they wish only to share,
yet the meadow is tarnished by ages of ruin
as unintended trails blister springs of Terranean abundance;
our time has come and gone,
embrace the wisdom of the dieties,
stare back into the eye of reckoning and drink life from this absolution in death.
the Cities arise from Ruins of the past,
small black hexes set forth from a plan for demise
and each contained within a past space,
collided planets and clustered stars, I see and feel a moon
so close I can touch it,
its strange light guiding ancient races from graves long forgotten,
data fluxes pulse from Eden
and the Library door opens to reveal true fate to us all,
we the wasted population,
all reduced by our own to Carbon specters, wandering,
long since we lost sight of why we abandoned our garden for these plains and suns full of life,
we need not be saved
for the Master has upon us set his ephemeral wisdom,
he knows as should we that it is for the best that we join our lives
in this last glimpse and breath to breathe the salvation
of our cosmic heaven descending on this, our imperceptible impression of life;
yet this judgement day is not a sentence,
Mother her children not as punishment yet only by divine reason
which by simplistic design we are not to realize...
Only one knows our fate,
the one who is the key, the Trigger beneath the finger of the apocalypse,
he knows that life is not a river,
life is the bridge crafted by gods to foreign tempting meadows,
they wish only to share,
yet the meadow is tarnished by ages of ruin
as unintended trails blister springs of Terranean abundance;
our time has come and gone,
embrace the wisdom of the dieties,
stare back into the eye of reckoning and drink life from this absolution in death.
That's awfully nice.