the constant in a dying world.

The lights flicker like ghost-lanterns on a ghost-ship

on a ghost-sea that might or might not exist

in a ghost-world that floats like temporary insanity

under the florescence of this false telling

this false story: this false dreaming without heart.

And these paths and aisle-ways: lined with the useless things man has perceived

made with zealous strength and without any compounding truth: alienator of entire worlds

this is how you completely leave that which started you in the womb.

These names which make no intelligible sense: who proudly hold their own pockets of empty space

in the sense of the unseeming word: which perhaps stand for part of the unstable security

of the cheap vulnerability of dying man: covering the loss and loneliness

resplendent with colors and shapes they stole from dreams of dead worlds

whose people forgot or never learnt how to make music

who proudly forwent the chance to tell tales: who ignored the dancers and the glorious revelations

who locked the shining sun herself away: and who ultimately forgot how to dream.

Come now, humanity: where have you hidden yourself away?

In the silence of the wake: and the dark of the monstrous drudgery

between the liars and the cheaters and the vain: there is a pain unrealized and unjustified

come how the unsurety of a people put down for a single dreaming

for the words of the tales that spill from their mouths

and thus in the seeming marvelousness of the false beauty personified

we are overwhelmed and fall regardless: without the visible fear of falling

to the constant and inerodible deaths that await impassionate fools and thieves of souls.

Come now, surety: show me then your beating heart.