|The pylons are burning|
A smell of ozone wafting
Through the protective cave covering
An awakening aroma of the Fall
That horrendous pall long oft put off, aside
The timid, lying and pale morality
We wished things would otherwise be…
Mute considerations of doom
Went smoothly nowhere
A sewn up bag of tricks carried
More weight than the bridge which burns
A foreign world has arrived, turning
Our cave is swamped with shadowy understanding.
Frightened, we wish elsewise
There is no longer any help or god
Hope died with the falling pylons
Eidolons of civilisation and sanity
Those monoliths falling
Are deathly, deadly appalling.
If lightning lived longer
Than that mere moment
Then those pylons fallen
Would be the broken thrones
Monolithic record of their fall.