listless clouds clash
remorsefully bright
in contrast to the darkness
of the sky behind them
poised to invade
when the darkness has won,
evil stars
strike up in flames
overtaking our dreams
through which we witness
furrows creep and widen
across the solid earth
ingesting clusters of ****** souls,
their cadaverous shades perfumed
by the misery of hell
and undermining tall cathedrals
which plunge with torrents of masonry
into the abyss,
their unfastened bells clamoring
out of sync and out of key
through the acrid dusts of hell
trudge trolls who,
bored and longing for meaning,
pilfer the cathedrals' rugged remnants
lying in slanted piles
we come to realize
we are the ministers of dead nations
for which any hope of renewal
has finally been extinguished,
masterfully deceived and depleted
by an anarchic emperor
who caresses the strings
of a dismelodious lyre
his lyre invites
the clouds to return,
this time energized and organized
into desolate vortices
that twist without purpose,
where even infinity dies,
the same multitudes of nothingness
in which we're finally overtaken
as befoulment is woven between us
and we are choked into sleep,
vainly we ask,
"why?"
So, what's the answer?