Walking inbetween the heathen trees
That coax the dark to fatten up thin fears
I throw about these prayers like amulets.
What credulous blood slinks through these dumb veins!
Leaning to some prehistoric voice,
It trembles, picks up pace and rushes on
To the fleshdark hollows of the heart
Where reason - paper thin - is flushed away
and the pulse makes music: brash, unschooled
but teaching nonetheless your tongue to stir
and sing aloud the scorn of gravity.
This is a world's end; you know the score.
Faith in the shapeless dirt is fading fast
and giving way to ghosts and hope and fire.