A golden most brilliant light
guides my feet
back to the mountains below
forever walking in time.
and my only belief:
this unchanging cycle
in pitting ourselves
against this world
what could we have hoped to win?
from crashing waves, to echoing cries
all of us gave our blood at some time,
in a futile attempt to survive
with every misstep we took
spiraling faithlessly on
sense of direction long lost
and the sun, humbly kept rising
blinding frustrated eyes.
we piled bones on top of bones
to hold back the tides.
it will be said: "their tragedy was
that they prayed for rain,
and died not believing it ever came.
in the end they had words for torture,
but forgot the word for pain."
while oceans rose
we threw a message out to the sea
dreamt up a mechanical god,
indignant at the suggestion of ancient beauty
but I hope there's some place out there
where our prayers survived
life did exist here
in this sacred sliver of time
its golden hour
it's getting cold
tell me there is a way
to give this story a meaningful end
need every sunset bring with it death?
I forget the sound of birds at sunrise
I forget my ancestors names
I forget the thriving forest
I forget the brilliant sea
I forget the blooming meadow
I forget astonishing peaks
I forget the community of life
I forget the continuity of life
I forget the pitch of nurturing voice
I can't remember dawn.
