The tale cries out from the fallen and the others
taken by the angelic tide in the rapture.
We float in the ether,
swimming weightless with the speed of thought.
The tears for us are shed by the remaining.
They will leek in the trembling tumult
of a wasted planet spun in war.
Some have touched, others have graced
the other omnipotent level
and have now remained to give guidance
and nurture the possibility of survival.
They, the watchers and wanderers of this vastness
hunt for the hope that is inherent in all living things.
It is sought beyond the trials of a lost existence.
The risen from the other land remember
and are grateful for the change. They frolic
with things to see and do rather than be held
in the purgatorial amniotic fluid of nothingness.
This legend speaks of one possible future
as the forgotten stand against Apollyon
fighting the human wasps that bite and sting.
It is a disease of the eternals.
There are rumblings of another birth
like the one that came before.
There is a parable saying
that this is beginning again, and as before,
only the just shall receive and all others shall wait.
I have heard the tale of this fatherless bastard birth.
One who walks the desert wastes
preaching a brand of truth no one truly accepts.
The cities are beginning again. So too are the Pharisees,
the governors and the ruling class
once again casting judgment against the pagans.
There are the changes that are happening,
but they are slow to be realized.
Once they begin there is no telling
the absolute direction of this wilderness frontier.
Language is now babble. A divine mishmash of all
so there can be no barrier and also no connection.
Education and knowledge arrive at birth now,
and the child determines the direction
that the spirit wishes to declare itself.
The greatest gift is that the druids
have returned like moles from the earth
rising from temples where they have been hibernating.
This time they come without religion or belief.
This time they arrive simply as fact.
There are those who have connected with the earth itself
and tell their fables to the animals and people alike.
They understand all monuments that have remained,
have reconstructed and built new ones.
If the understanding continues
the only religion will be communication.
It will be a separation between those
who choose to and those who choose not.
Most of the aristocrats will choose
not to address this in any form.
This will only amount to so much control
until the people demand a stop.
Cities will be abandoned overnight
as the pilgrimages suddenly begin,
leaving the aristocrats to their own ends.
The hope is that they will begin to understand
and choose to speak one day.
Unfortunately, they arrived long before the Druids returned
and they thrive on the domineering of others.
The greatest trick the universe pulled
is granting the knowledge and awareness
that there are more of us than the ruling class.
The day we learn that, and accept it,
the tide will turn.