Whispered words these walls breathe the inanity of accusation And a moment of gifting passes through what once was identity In a movement beyond truth and falsity I can sense them in the mountains On either side of every side Basking in the seething sun this flesh conjures the infinite mind While well worn pillars of objectivity collapse as if blown asunder By the blameless pawns of poets ecstatically exhuming treasures of forgotten grace The in-betweens surpassing their localities this grey disease reproducing The weapons forever unleashed stockpiled with lies of every kind There is a season a time to die And the word games end as the clock thunders by and the rain sears this pain As my streams keep running dry
