The sun rises at crimson dawn, bleeding over ancient hills. A valley translucent amongst trees. The fate of those subject to human will linked side by side in the company of stones scattering a barren desert. The will of the world. The will of human instinct is all that creates and all that destroys. The Men and Women and Children of Great ancestors bred to be burned; bred to bare witness to their own demise.
Level them all, they cry. Level them all.
The sun spreads its commandments, hands outstretched and head bowed, sinking its poised tongue of red deep into the sand. They hold each other tightly amongst stones self assured in their making and they look to God’s rising eye; the heat melting steady, their time faint pulses of heartache already forgotten and discarded in a world wrought by turmoil.
They look to the bleeding sunlight and they cry,
You built a world. You built us.
Wooden beams splitting and bursting. Glass shattering against the pavement. Bombs hidden in the hills, hidden in our homes. Trees dancing in the wind for no man to see.
They dance. They dance in the spring and burst their fleshy flowers in reborn production as the life of those raised amongst them seeps into the earth.
I am a nuclear monkey with radioactive intellect and my will wreaks havoc in mud huts.
You built a world, they cry. You built us.
I’m a medic in a flu state and I’ve got the fever.
I am God.
And I level it down.