How far can you see,
Into this fading night,
Doth the smouldering wastelands;
Sacred to the ghosts of symbols,
Yield shadows as you reach,
By it’s fading edge and listen,
The old echo of mute prayers,
Shatter the purity of silence,
And raise words harsh and illuminating.Doth these new voices,
Predict an arrival,
Of an age where,
Men designs men,
As the cold knife, naked with naive desire,
Drips with exalted impunity,
Curious to carve,
Another face, another being,
So scarred by errors of life,
That being immortal is the only answer?
THE HUMAN ANVIL 