When silence falls like creeping fog
Along the surface of the earth, the space
Reserved for mankind’s expeditions,
Aged traditions bow their face.
Reverence smolders like thick incense
And the keepers of the wicks
Know what to trim, when to ignite,
And how to burn away semantics.
These are all the nights we get.
There will be no time to elaborate
On all we wouldn’t see or know;
All these words will evaporate.
When silence rolls in as a plague,
And all goodbyes are stifled shy
And all our victories fall to ruin
And all our wisdoms run dry
Our tiny band of atmosphere
Will yield the eldest and their youth
To the thunderous sound of Divinity;
We will hear the voice of Truth.

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