One planet of life,
A million million systems silent.
Calls to the void,
To the eternal quiet.
Breach it,
Shape it,
Learn it,
And then fold when the cards are blank.
What fools they are,
To shout and reveal our position.
The systems are silent,
Not by choice.
It has heard us.
Behind two of the three of the sun,
It exists.
It is beyond floating,
It is beyond standing,
It is beyond worry,
It is beyond waiting,
It is beyond time,
It is beyond,
So far beyond,
Whatever vile beast our natural hell could dream of.
Unseen by inhuman sense.
Meant only to be witnessed by flesh.
How may your camera,
Perceive something that has always never existed?
Runway hour,
It stirs for an unwitting audience.
No not for,
It simply stirs.
The audience are ants to this anti-god.
The silver flows.
One tin can sent,
One man within,
To go beyond the first third of the one sun.
No warning prompted this folly.
It did not care to be found,
Or maybe it did,
Or maybe it wanted us to think it didn’t.
Who the fuck knows,
I am a squirrel trying to understand the will,
And commands,
Of something that should not exist.
Matter grappling with its rival.
This is Major Tom reporting in,
Hear me Ground Control.
One infinite beast,
No it is machine,
No it is synthetic,
No it is older than time.
Is it the morning star?
It must have eaten all gods before it.
Ten million strands of living silver,
Reaching in circles to the end of the beast.
We don’t know what lies inside,
Maybe a sun,
Maybe the essence of the gods it devoured,
Perhaps it molts.
He must be a dragon of sorts.
No not he,
Not her,
Not it,
It simply be.
Some face everchanging,
As the molten metal flows across that which should not exist.
It hides,
No it waits behind the sun.
Perhaps it shall devour it just as it did all life before us.
Why it waits I do not know.
It calls to me in a benevolent shriek I do not understand,
Yet I am drawn to it.
It relays that it waits for the perfect moment,
When Terra is ripe.
Then it may eat the reality around our system,
As it did a million million others.
Goodbye Ground Control,
I must join it.
I have man who prances,
I have a man who dances,
I have a man who strings sentences,
I have a man who trances,
I have a man who stances,
I have a man who glances.
THUS BEHOLD I HAVE MEN UPON LANCES,
EVERLASTING AGONY,
WISHING THEY MAY KNOW OBLIVION.
Thus it spoke its discordant melody,
To all souls upon Terra,
Relaying the fate of the universe.
How we wish there was a heat death,
Or Big Freeze,
Or big crunch,
For at least we may ascend in a million years.
Now we shall pass into nothingness,
In total paradoxical awareness,
Pray not we inhabit the void of nonexistence.
It stirs now,
Circling Sol as if to taunt.
Perhaps it mistakes Ares for Terra,
For it has not struck yet.
Pray us now to the dead gods,
That it cannot find us,
Despite our foolishness of telling the universe,
“We are here to be devoured and conquered,
We await our Columbus.”
We cannot risk our species upon hopes,
However,
So we must take action.
There is but one infallible plan.
Sol must vanish.
It be enamored with its yellow light,
Perhaps that is which brought it here.
Sol cannot vanish and return,
Sol must perish,
So we may at least ascend to the afterlife,
Which shall be eternal punishment for our self-genocide,
But we shall still exist.
Already now,
The fools that revealed us plan to extinguish Sol,
Forever.
A billion trillion ball-sized suns,
Obscuring our Terra,
And inducing total implosion of Sol.
Damnation upon that Dragon,
And its living silver,
And its taunts upon existence.
It is the Morning Star of victory,
Come to undo all that the gods established,
Jealous of our flesh and pride and preference.
We hope to dispel the beast with our hole of darkness,
If successful it shall flee.
I pray it does not already hold darkness within,
For Sol will burn bright,
And illuminate our failed sins,
And it shall devour our essence.
If devoured,
We suspect we are the millionth,
Millionth system to sustain such an unholy beast.
