Slave gate negate the whiteness of light,
upon it's opening they all pour in
suffering pretence and agitation,
devoid of sight or imagination.
Their eyes cry crystal resistance.
As do mine,
shuffling in line.
For the rancid narratives of this tragedy
encompass a species...
It's a hollow push and a raw walk.
in my ragged guise, I choke and baulk
at the thought of sublimation.
Freedom in the movement of bones.
Salvation in the worship of stones.
It's the shine of the eyes,
the reflection from the gateway.
Persistence of light signals the eternal.
We drown in it like we drown in love -
weeping at our destiny.