Time lay congealed like a mantle of blood

Through which no-one could wade to the gates of their dreams;

And the pools of corruption, where arrogance bred,

Lapped soft in the sun, to the humming of drones

Saviours reviling, Hope fled from the shore,

And futures sighed low at the temporal spray;

Cliffs of prediction fell rapid and sheer

To the Caves of Coincidence, brighter than day,

Dark was the cloak which the Prophet had worn,

On the day Resurrection declared its demise;

Dark were the faces where Death had been born,

When they looked to the Past, which was never to rise,

But lay in the dust with its future foresworn.