Untitled

A thousand hands press against broken glass-lined walls:
Veil of blood masks the eyes; masks the mind.
Blinded, searching aimlessly
For that tiny speck of Eden, bodies pressed.
Heaped upon another, legion of amalgamated souls.

Scouring through a wasteland,
Licking sand, drinking dust,
For the one skeleton of hope
Buried in an imploded ziggurat.
Thousand miles deep.

From the Tower of Babel we came,
Towards it we shall go.
The world shall end
With silence, broken hearts
And nature’s volition; not gods'.