We’re
deep a den, reading brick, to cipher our glory. It’s an
empire
of sorrows, the plight of an empress, to wrestle
energies.
Such a fantastic disaster, to excavate wisdom, to
further
humanity. It’s a tender grief, ever to
search, to
define
history. What is life, where feelings flutter, the deepest
trance?
It’s ever an artifact, to rouse a pulse, to spin a
telescope.
So many treasures, akin to a woman’s smile, a
tinge
sublime. We’re breath to breath, digging earth, chipping
brick.
What is meaning, fully enamored, a temple’s fire?
We
long for more, to fathom life, to function a miracle. It’s
to
sparkle for rhythm, to search for giants, to study a flood.
It’s
ever to science, for ancient bones, in ancient tombs. What
for
similarities, a need to cook, bathe, and love; and what for
language,
a need to speak, argue, and love? To search a pivot,
a
cry for humanity, a flower aside a small stream; and what
for
legends, a standing myth, to flourish and fly; for we’re deep
a
den, reading brick, to cipher our glory.
