A lone god, as Shiva, standing upon a rock upon the sea upon the earth upon the tear of the Christ who wandered forever in the bloodstream of the savior of your own debt to darkness.

Standing as the waves crashed upon the wizardly and nostalgic jeans crafted from the dreams you had once when drama and a storm sat dormant in your heart.

Extending one hand towards the North Star, in a salute of desperation and longing to return via apotheosis to the realm of one's own dreamland home.  

Desperation, like the thirst of 10,000 beetles who drink blood like golden honey which drips from space like stars that melt and die in the winds whom are the kings of the middle americas.

Kings, like the standing stone.

Shiva, a tear, a stone...Is You or I.
The Stone, remember, is the dream you let die.

The ocean which swallows you all, is the death of nostalgia and hope.

Split the sea with the Trident of Shiva.

You are a God, if you choose.