Wretched lies and wretched tongues, wagging in fear at The sight of judgement dawning. The seeds of dissention towards all good things, They rifle through the ranks of disillusioned humanity, Seeking out the sick and weak like a wolf would its prey. I stand upon a shore of time, the rough sands Cutting into my feet. I could spin in joy, around and around, until I fall Dizzy and incapacitated, I am so deeply affected by the Serenity of humanity's ocean, lapping at the shore. Free and free, the sky above trembles in fear at the lightning. The sands are no more, washed away by turbulent waves, Leaving behind only the clay beneath. The clay used to make dishes, tools and art, But it remains shapeless, because my hands are the only Ones left to shape it; humanity is gone, the raging of the Storm, the cloak of dark evil envelopes it, Making its gentle waves disappear. Sweet Jesus of Nazareth, be you a carpenter, you should have Built me a shelter from the storm, and a concrete wall To protect the sands from the erosion of the now inhuman waves. I see my hands, covered in blood; I am caught red-handed. The ten-foot, twenty-foot waves crash over me, Erasing the red, but my hands keep bleeding, And the waves keep crashing, until, At last, I am bled dry. There is no sand, and without sand there is no glass, Nothing clear through which to see the coming storm, Yet still shelters against it. The longer the everlasting storm thrives, the more it proclaims, I will stay, softly spoken, loud enough so that I cannot ignore it. The sands of time are all gone, But they were there long before the mock humanity that stole Them away was there to walk on them. I have been bled dry, and I lie down on the hard, shapeless clay. Soon, my senses gone, my tongue wags out of my mouth, And the evil waves will wash me away. Nightmare of all nightmares, I pray to a godless sky That I am not gifted with precognition.Birth sign: Libra
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