Cast an indifferent overcast
upon the coarse gray sands
around my sunken feet imprinted
on the earth grounded by gravity
tortured to look above towards
shrouding skies of hoary scale
with earthly sounds of depths
crashing without compromise
sprinkling comets of aftermath
over my pale bristled skin
shuddering convulsing trembling
in fear of this darkened oblivion.

All of your relations
Acquaintances, Lovers, Ancestors,
Stand buried in the rock
Which you left for the stars.

All of your dreams
To be anything but
A passenger of exploration
Hurdling towards the stars.

All of your advancement
From fire to fission
Brought you to the edge
To the unknown light of the stars.

All of your history
From nomadic to communist conquest,
Dwindles to bygone feuds of nothing
Specked with glimmers of the stars.

All of your prayer
Inquisitions and moral apostasy,
Matters not to the mirrors of Fate
Refracting illumination, reflecting life
Parsecs of attainable depth, here we are.

These atoms hold reason.
These quarks hold love.
These photons hold freedom.
These bosons hold life.

Obelisk of faith soaring far beyond heights of skies
Eclipsing Ra, shielding followers from identical tale
Of ancient Gods, supremacy shrouded in new cloaks
Bellowing screams of submission through crimson skies.

Here lies mash of mutilated corpses.
Spilled Bavarian bloodline boiling under the sun.
Glistening dew, maelstrom fog.
Resting on some foreign land to conquer.
For Chancellor, for Kaiser, for God.
Blood is the same to the soil.
We bleed different for our adversaries.
For their Man, for their King, for their God.
Clash of cogs, industry, machinery and competition.
Banging rocks to rockets burying.
Our brothers without banners to the same fate.

Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.


Think how it wakes the seeds, -
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved, - still warm, - too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?