Was I a fool not to see that the humble cloister of
My own psyche was simply a facet of this vast temple?
That this place, inhabited by the infinite and ancient dead,
Is merely an extrapolation, a continuation,
An elaboration of the structures within my own depths?
The very structures which I rely upon to
Articulate, arrange and coordinate my path within this world.
The walls of this place, ancient, and built not by men,
But by the aggregation of action, ritual and symbology.
Formalities and liturgies that
Predate the law, the word and man himself.
Was I a fool not to see that the flames which filled the brass pits,
Which we so zealously sought to extinguish,
Were not intended to draw our gaze to them?
That instead these flames were set alight to
Illuminate the structure, to draw light to its form.
Fumbling and gestural attempts to describe its unfathomable nature.
Flickering in their verbiage,
Shining light upon but a tiny fragment
Of the encapsulating shapes and forms.
And in an instant, upon the lips of earth I felt her calm.
In bellows of soothing disarray, all was unchanged in penitence.
It was this which was divine.
From the torn womb of my mind came forth a new
Entity, dripping in lustrous ugliness to my eyes.
Beyond the walls of this temple, the churning filth,
The screaming void, the endless black, it calls to me.
If these walls should crumble to
Dust, will I behold an agent of change?
A beacon of reordering?"
But my strained howling reverberate off the creeping black before me.
You damned fools!
You charlatans and opportunists!
This will be our fate!"
The voice now raised and ireful, for this was always here,
Clawing blindly at the cusps and
Peripheries of our haphazard sanctuary.
But time is now short; axioms tuble as rafters and vaulting.
Walls of stone crack and dissolve.
Aghast I regard, as the temple crumbles to the ground.