Conciousness claims another victim,
as the dawn’s light glints golden off the faces
of ancient oppressors.
We used to see in black and white
until all division was abolished
under the ressurrection of what never died.
What never was.
But will be.
We used to feed on fruits of pain and toil.
Flesh worked steel, worked Earth.
We used to need one another.
We used to die together.
Now we never hunger.
We are kept.
We see in shades of grey, that everyone is one.
I and you and He are gone.
Made equal by our lack.
Illuminated, now we are shadows.
If the sun ever sets,
if the night ever comes,
perhaps we can hide in brilliance.
We can dance in the stars,
they see nothing.
Tell nothing.
And they will pour out blood in place of their care.
They will pay the price to cross Styx in barrells,
filled with broken promises.
It is a good time to get back on the road,
Pilgrims seeking homestead;
forsaking elder influence for the straight path.
Out of the putrid light that withers the fruit on the vine.
That burns the Earth like anger.
That powers the machine and the ambition alike.
Not receding back to the cave.
But going back home.
We haven’t forgotten the way.
HG – 2009
