Neo-gilded era of neon lights that torment burning
taking the darkness out of shadows where lost cicadas chitter, lurking
above, one resplendent eye, dizzily always, turning
dry scales, old fangs lay about a serpent admires its naked form
it rises over the chapel and the cloud to bite the dove
now to feel its power surging, in this flesh reborn
with no ribs to cage, no heart-to conscience, to page; no love

Ageless aeons daemons themselves could nary grasp
this posing colossus, beautiful and eternal, shines on
not for worship or admiration, how small it is that tinier they seem
when in its glory they so openly bask
professing, consoling, confiding and watching, knowing it will be there when they are gone
knowing if nothing else is certain, there are many generations still this eyelash will bat upon
hanging there when they are none, as regular every day as the dawn.