A thousand strands of
       beautiful woven death.

Though they hang like
           silk nets holding


the suffocating twine of eternity.


Each one is eventually severed,
       and bleached filaments

gather below, static and devoid
                            of deaths adulation.

What was well kept,  is now
            discontinued echoes.


No longer the adulation of
           obliteration,

      just void less inconsequence.