Thursday, 3 March 2011

age of good, poem

When the grey moon begins to sink into the shameful perspex of space
The consummation of inauguration is finite trails of thought

Justica’s gaze shall smite the odes of man
And man shall say deities proclaim the word of hate

While the pure crow sings her watchful lullaby
And the souls of time and the yet to be known
Burden us all
With their painless sorrow and crippled touch

Fonts of wisdom and musty thought
Flow from the globules of human consciousness
Tearing down the bonds of brotherhood
Bringing to an end, the age of good.

1 comment:

  1. "The shameful perspex of space" - like it.

    For some reason, the combination of the text and image makes me think of Lovecraft's 'Crawling Chaos'...