Tuesday, December 1, 2009

The Unbroken Arc

Three prophecies the ancients told,
descending basements caked with mold,
our hearts are lost, our souls are sold,
Lamassu wakes within the fold,
to eat the sweets the dead controlled,
Papyrus burns, the Dead Sea Scrolls,
Illusion.
Oh, lamentable confusion!
Elysian fields upon the cliffs,
a lifeless plunge into the Styx,
the Shades' defeat inscrutable,
with Delphic signs immutable,
Oh, tell me where the tides will swell,
and crash upon black waters still.
Overshoot me, zenith frozen fate,
your prescient spear is sharp.

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