rat-tat-ta-tat, click
the random noises ever present
I should think in attic here
in forgotten corner of the universe
it is its song
a stacatto played when mindlessly
it looks away in attendence
like its every present hum
not a beat but a presence of infinite radiation
dark and dusty
wood-slat laid
a golden shaft (they'll say 'pierce', but I'll say) moves
along the floor,
a time for me, but knowing
it is finite and lost
how wasted are these infinite moments
gilded lovingly as offeratories
provided by the font of holiness
to thee
and thee but waste them
so eat then naught but gnash and grind they teeth
breath naught then but ash and dust
fulfill thyself upon the emptiness of yourself
and its promises will be the same
you are your own reward
...
the offeratory divine
is a wealth of mercy filling
all the dark corners of the universe
and golden light
and time
...
...