The rage against the machine
is but grease to the wheels
and all revolutions ends in
a conspiracy to control it.
I care not -
I am but a travellier, I watch
observe, and make notes.
These are but words writ
on a piece of paper,
but if you listen to the intonatons
the memoirs of the Aezirs
imprinted in time
the songs which were sung
at the gates of dawn.
They cling about us like waterfalls
and from the cave behind
the vivid colourscales flow into
this ethereal plane from the beyond
for beauty is a word
in a melody of empty lines
we are but vessels of it. |