Destroyer (The Final Titan)

I am the withered hole, old
and vacant of
the composed leisure
and titillating, romantic atmosphere
of the invulnerable people;
all so modern, raising modern children
that shall live and grow and die here.

Here, in a corner of the universe
where humans are
made of stale breath, pressed
into glass jars and copper skulls
decorated with jewelry
and topped with white cornets,
all dressed for masquerades
beneath gas-light lamps
among the Paris streets.

I am an ancient monument,
void of sympathy for the soft skinned
self-assured businessmen
and the insistent, whining housewives
and the cowardly teen who turns
to follow every expression
and every vision of the world.

I have dozed, curled and watching the earth
hearing the qualities and tones
across the gulf that separates
the seen from the unseen.

But soon enough the ground shall crumble
beneath the soles of human feet
and every notion that they are alone
shall fail, immeasurably
then, scattered abroad
from housetops
and from mouths and from trees
shall come the shout that breaks the trance
and forces them to see
that their leisure and all their atmosphere
modern though they be
can withstand not even the slightest breath
when God himself does breathe.