Epilogue

End Caption

Created by thunder without lightning, the dregs
Of subcreation trumpeted by shadow dialogues
Heathen poets raid temples and synagogues,
A prophetic virgin dumb from birth begs
For a sign of life, a burning word torn
From its roots, mining truth in a bloody thorn.

To create with no purpose is always a sin
No singer earns what she has yet to spend
Blank pages encrypted with crystals bend
White light into colorless rainbows again
The failed artist forfeits a fee more substantial
Than his skin or her safe passage to hell

Back in time to the burst bubble born
As it cries “poof” and remains in the air
Content to believe in an unspoken dare
If you haven’t seen God’s hymen torn
Then look again when he lays down the word
And issues the earth in the midst of a turd

The teller sings, tales are born and time ticks
The mind can’t shine past the page’s charms
And nothing can be unless silence it harms
Not the silence of noiseless pin pricks
The silence of more than not being said
The silence of living which is never quite dead.