Soar, crash into the limelight,
Pull these strings and watch them dance,
Sip from their veins and watch them crumble,
Pull these rugs and watch them dissolve.
How many more walls can one break down
When the ceiling, the foundation have already dissipated?
(A riddle in which the answer is
Much greater than you'd expect.)
Tap your wand upon their eyes,
Bury it into their hearts and
Direct their dying orchestras.
(Until they implode beneath your step.)
These volatile concoctions
Devise their own surrender,
For there are no more Davids,
There are no more slings,
No parting of the seas
Or walking upon the water.
Only armies of Goliaths,
Crosses to perch our dried souls upon and
Apples to chew over.
And as Eden disappears,
We'll build a million towers
In our worthless Babylonian hearts and
Cause a million floods.
(And one time, the Dove will bring nothing back.)