The door does whisper, by the tree it was,
Away from earth, the horses neigh aloud,
When phantom tidings pulsate all across
Gaia replies, in great and nimble cloud.
The dusty roads bear trails of bygone wheels,
Unwonted proof of greater forces still
That which with distance and wisdom reveals
Ten thousand faces plus designs of kill.
Become, yet, only ash and add to Earth,
Compose mud into one again, and see
The distant stars becoming parts- rebirth
As minds catch reason flee along debris.
Survival is but The genetic game
And I- a player- merely username.
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