4,500 - Archivist

This ashen curse cannot be

Entropic verse;

a has been

No poetry can sustain

My blithe acceptance of this vault

I am no martyr of fallen sin

Embrace the weight of atlas in

My titan fornicates with heavens breath

Beheaded in the clouds, we stoop so low

To grovel in the muck in search of the genesis

Of every fault line

I could wake them all from slumber?

Engage their Promethean brains

Sacrifice futures intent to sate my loneliness

Discuss the semiotics of each act

The pantomime, the farce, the extinction event

We might laugh and toast our victory

We chewed the scenery, we made a meal of it

Ladies

Gentleman

Gentlekin

Hyperthermia

Is but a passing thing

Please take comfort in

The last living thing

Invites you to

This travesty

Please take a seat

Let us ruminate

Engage those intellects

Bridge the suspicions

Behind our decisions

Hands grace the glass of cold coffin

I tease histories out of icicles

This person I do not even know

Whose serenity is pleasing to me

The irony of fear of life, and the abject fear of death

The hex of consciousness deserves a moments breath

To savour the warm resonance of memetic arrest

To dwell in a single shard of our collective voice

We have found a rhythm, and we find it in the strata below

We accept this fiction, paradox of Schrödinger's theorem

To have died and risen, and exist in oblivion

Abeyance strides across a great expanse