Ceremony Ek Stasis

Minsk

Whispered words these walls breathe the inanity of accusation 
And a moment of gifting passes through what once was identity 
In a movement beyond truth and falsity I can sense them in the mountains 
On either side of every side 
Basking in the seething sun this flesh conjures the infinite mind 
While well worn pillars of objectivity collapse as if blown asunder 
By the blameless pawns of poets ecstatically exhuming treasures of forgotten grace 
The in-betweens surpassing their localities this grey disease reproducing 
The weapons forever unleashed stockpiled with lies of every kind 
There is a season a time to die 
And the word games end as the clock thunders by and the rain sears this pain 
As my streams keep running dry