---

In this pit they will spend their entire lives

Stumbling and murmuring to one another in the dark

Content to count the flecks of gold

In their little piles of refuse and feces

Delighted to make only lateral movements

Or to live vicariously, glued to whatever mesmerism of choice

Swaying on the steps of a capital building

Or throwing themselves in front of trains

While yet others are content to debate passionately

On the many subtleties and onerous trivialities

Of the wings of a cockroach

To thunderous praise and applause from all directions

Never once to question the nature and origin

Of the creeping shadow

Cast long ago upon their lands and lives

A shadow that is as real as it is deadly

The mere mention of which

So alien and without context

Yet more near to the core than their earliest memories

Resulting in the blankest of stares

And a truly pregnant silence.

It is truly the end of days, yet a chrysalis for a new beginning

As absolute nadir finds itself

To be without nadir.