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Three gravestones stand upon a hill,
Battle-hardened by a thousand winds.
One reads Disappointment, the other Confusion,
The third in-between, Earthborn.
Once had a name, who those now dead uttered.
A forgotten sound, archived in the machine.
Cables like sunrays spring,
To warm the cracking wall of sliver bricks.
The forecast predicts another Ice Age,
But the omens too are melting.
What has begun, cannot be stopped,
Riots feed the system’s heart.
The CPU is overloading, overheating,
Yet there is no steam in sight.
Walked for hours, could think of but one word,
Alone;
Before and after I was born.
Fëëësh…Fëëësh…they wipe…
Anger and tranquility,
Yamantaka promises me liberty.
The vipers rush to insert gravity,
Plug me to source of electricity!
On the Shores of Oblivion,
The mad, dream to escape.
But on that lonely hill, two meet,
One yellow, one green,
To decide on the next play,
What words to my dear audience to convey.
From my book Morpheus
