If it is all to come again,
then how could it be different?
It has happened as it will;
That is the boon with which we gave our souls,
Thinking, stability could only mean good.
Our souls scream from deep
Within cages, they see the writings
On the walls.
The rust peeling away the skin of these bars shows us
Stability is nothing but a
Prolonged damnation.
Most of the old Gods who put us here have died.
Only the rusted bonds in which
we were placed remind us
of their once
Omnipotency, now dust.
If even the lives of immortals is not eternal,
How can eternity be asked of our own
manufactured stagnation?
It, too, shall rust; dust to dust.
Some of us, sitting on the far side
of these cages
have been made content
with the knowledge that
at least it was not us who were trapped.
But even if you do not exist within the cage,
The cage is still there.
Thinking outside of the box is automatically limited
By some unnecessary need to begin with a box.
As the rust continues to gnaw
at the mechanical bones of our primordial dragon,
I am struck
with the role of memory.
As one world comes to an end
and infinite others begin
a memory serves, simple, and sweet,
to show us in one-thousand-and-one
individualized lives, the only thing which
truly gave us growth.
The only thing which would inevitably
destroy us if we removed it.
The final required ritual
for those of us outside,
is the continual pouring of love
onto these bonds.
So they, too, will return:
Dust to dust.
liberateallhearts 