The precious death wells up from depths below,
the sunshine of a thousand summers bright,
distilled in fluid blackness, and the glow
is from these deeps that guides my pen tonight.

For starlight leaves in darkness what is near;
the dancing worlds across the milky way
illuminate the season and the year,
but theirs is not the nearer light of day.

And so in darkest deeps we seek the sun,
to kindle freshly whensoe'er we choose.
Though stars their unchanged courses ever run,
we now select what rhythms we may use.

But this the price our our eternal day;
The further light of stars has gone away.

The golden death, it shimmers on the sea;
Too brilliant, radiant rainbows seal the vow
That not by water, but by fire, will be
The final end, as hell leaks even now.

And even now, the long forgotten dead
Are rising, soulless and unstoppable.
Their masters have gained powers great and dread,
But now they taste those wrathful pow'rs in full.

The fires of hell they've loosed upon the earth;
Their bodies and their tools now feed the flames,
With nothing left to stop this strange rebirth,
For things there are on earth that no man tames.

And so it was, when wisdom's fruit we ate,
We grew in skill too soon, and truth too late.

Ezekiel

The blood of silence pounds within my ears,
And yet my lips are sealed as living scrolls,
As I, unworthy wait these silent years;
the word burns in my mouth as living coals.

I dwell amid the dry and scattered bones,
Waiting to exhale the word of life.
But sealed the word, and sealed my own heart's groans,
And sealed the grave, the bones of my own wife.

I know these scattered bones will rise again,
Together gathered, enfleshed alive and new.
But now there is the waiting until then,
The terror of the vision clear and true;

Waiting with the weight of words unspoken,
Waiting in the silence still unbroken.