back in the day
rocks could talk
often
they where
casual, petty and small-minded
just like us
divinities platitudes
every word a drop of manna
its magic
wow magic
so out of conceit
we made them gods
deferred to their credibility
and like idiot children
paid attention to their great allegories
a provident sea of wisdom
from the skeletons of time
we carved their faces from stones
put them on pedestals
and gave them names
the great know it alls
urns of heaven
those oracles of old
and so ensued
the epic cycle of talking statues
and thats how decisions where made
back in the day
the statues are strangely mute now
sunken shadows into earths bowels
and the age of reason
has been transplanted
by the age of
what the fuck
a new
hobbled world soul
of darkened consciousness
to cope with tentacles of complexity
and a forest of trials
where depth of thought has been replaced
and decisions are made by
the exalted
ennie meenie minee moe
method
an abstruse form of ritual magic
so from now on
all arguments will be settled
by me
sticking my tongue out