11-17-2012, 09:34 AM
The tides are dark and blank.
Sounds of primitive life
echo beneath your feet.
An elephant has crossed a room,
a bat flies from his perch.
This is how God must feel, you think,
a savage wind clutching your skirts.
Man shall cease before tomorrow wakes,
washing these seas with honey,
and land will come again one day.
Lesser minds roam in the dark,
driven by impulse alone.
What do they know about glory, you think,
standing on the oakwood deck,
as thieves and whores drown.
![[Image: 1%20%287%29.jpg]](http://www.pianodiving.net/forms/contact_us/images/1%20%287%29.jpg)
Sounds of primitive life
echo beneath your feet.
An elephant has crossed a room,
a bat flies from his perch.
This is how God must feel, you think,
a savage wind clutching your skirts.
Man shall cease before tomorrow wakes,
washing these seas with honey,
and land will come again one day.
Lesser minds roam in the dark,
driven by impulse alone.
What do they know about glory, you think,
standing on the oakwood deck,
as thieves and whores drown.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe