Watchers of the storm
Flit round our glowing dome
Not for them a slow heat death
But frozen by the cosmic dawn
Hewn from primal fire and stone
They watch while we freely burn
The last Immortal, in the end
Fade to grey and crumble to touch
I can only pray to me now
Self immolate, to find a spark
A lifetime burns and fades away
The last mortal, at the end
Imagine a land so old, where everything that could be has been,
Imagine the stories, played out between stone and sky
Written into ragged rocks, until they hold no more
All have fled and time slips away, unnoticed.
A decent into insanity is a journey through a series of closed doors.
Each one unravelling more mind-chaos than the one before,
fragmenting and multiplying, paths with too many choices,
no same person can hold on to them all.
Worse still are the mirror shards, fractal facets, reflecting mosaic faces,
each one an individual but smeared and mingled in a confused sea of identity.
Who can survive such a storm intact?
Malcolm Lightbody 