the architects

ornaments in silent darkness

the image of man now torn from its structure

the smell of need

the dwarfed soul of man

attuned only to flesh

suffering from frustration

alien to our own spirits

we're naked even in death

the dawn is yet to come

to fill us with knowledge

pulsating waves of colour

bleeding off into the black

a whisper of red screams through the night

the architects and the flesh