07-22-2020, 03:50 AM
Draped in blood, we die bloodlessly
for we chose security over science,
and now we run beneath the not-blue sky.
Talismans held in front of them,
dowsing rods to child gods,
lodestones for sentient clouds that need
to understand how humans work.
Every first contact is our last.
A light blossoms, a flower opens
within our chests
till we are cinders within
a sack of sparks,
only ever last names.
for we chose security over science,
and now we run beneath the not-blue sky.
Talismans held in front of them,
dowsing rods to child gods,
lodestones for sentient clouds that need
to understand how humans work.
Every first contact is our last.
A light blossoms, a flower opens
within our chests
till we are cinders within
a sack of sparks,
only ever last names.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson