Zed Narley - User contributions [en]

Heat Death

2013-09-14T19:33:09Z

173.206.162.207:

Three o'clock 
The city fog descends upon 
The neighbourhood 
Looking from the balcony 
One cannot see down shrouded streets 
Past two blocks.

No stars above in the endless black 
The streetside trees stretch forth their boughs 
To grasp and claw at nothingness 
Nought to see except what lies below 
The concrete track 
There alone to see 
Its every asphalt groove and mound 
Thrown in stark relief 
By lamplight that discovers 
Neither the road ahead, nor the sky unbound 
But shutters both, and draws the gaze down.

Amidst the fog, one cannot glimpse 
The human faces of the neighbours 
The man at his piano, the girl immersed in books 
The child with its building bricks 
Assembling worlds, starfish hands curled in determined fists 
Isolate, disparate, forsaken, in schism 
Within the abysm of the mist.

Between the heat and cold there is the fog 
Human warmth spread increasing thin 
A host of embers scattered to the wind 
Losing heat without a core 
Where was the hearth, cold grey ashes 
Lifeless dust about the floor 
Separation, slow dispersion 
Of tiny points of light ever growing dim 
Approaching the ultimate inertion 
And weak against the encroaching chill of night to contend: 
Entropic end.

Only the concrete can one see 
Ten steps ahead perhaps, no more 
Heads bowed down to trace the immediate path 
In the aging walk paved by slow machines 
To count the cracks, avoid the crevices 
Never lift their sights to meet the solemn, lidless stare 
Of an everpresent cloud of witnesses.

If I came with songs and poems of old to clear the haze 
Would you hear the words I spoke to you? 
And should you feed thereon with faith and thanksgiving? 
No, my people, you should turn your face away 
For what are the words of the poets and prophets? 
Who can discern them? And who is willing? 
Bound in chains of darkness, we eke out feeble lives 
Tired roles we endlessly reprise 
Drinking, laughing, never seeing face to face 
Divided, we are swiftly conquered 
And the voice that crieth in the wilderness 
Is as utterly alone as all the rest.

But the Word of the Lord came to me in a roundabout way 
And as I stand upon the stage 
To call upon that ancient Muse 
I see your faces unconfused 
Behold the book which bound am I to impart 
The scroll inscribed upon a consecrated heart 
Comfort ye my people, saith your God 
For between the cold and heat there is the fog.

The everpresent cloud of smoke, the mist 
Which rises fragrant from the coals, thrice-blest 
Eclipsing faces 'midst the softly glowing light 
Stand aright! 
Our souls are spread increasing thin 
A breath, a whisper upon the wind 
The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work 
By the Self-same wrought the renewal of the earth 
Remember, O Man, that dust thou art 
A dying ember upon the hearth 
Separation, slow dispersion 
A flickering light grows ever dim 
Approaching the ultimate inertion 
And weak to contend as night encroaches on the world's o'erflowing brim: 
O Elohim, the end, the end 
Wisdom! Let us attend.

Heat Death

2013-09-14T19:29:39Z

173.206.162.207:

Three o'clock 
The city fog descends upon 
The neighbourhood 
Looking from the balcony 
One cannot see down shrouded streets 
Past two blocks.

No stars above in the endless black 
The streetside trees stretch forth their boughs 
To grasp and claw at nothingness 
Nought to see except what lies below 
The concrete track 
There alone to see 
Its every asphalt groove and mound 
Thrown in stark relief 
By lamplight that discovers 
Neither road ahead, nor sky on high 
But shutters both, and draws the gaze down.

Amidst the fog, one cannot glimpse 
The human faces of the neighbours 
The man at his piano, the girl immersed in books 
The child with its building bricks 
Assembling worlds, starfish hands curled in determined fists 
Isolate, disparate, forsaken, in schism 
Within the abysm of the mist.

Between the heat and cold there is the fog 
Human warmth spread increasing thin 
A host of embers scattered to the wind 
Losing heat without a core 
Where was the hearth, cold grey ashes 
Lifeless dust about the floor 
Separation, slow dispersion 
Of tiny points of light ever growing dim 
Approaching the ultimate inertion 
And weak against the encroaching chill of night to contend: 
Entropic end.

Only the concrete can one see 
Ten steps ahead perhaps, no more 
Heads bowed down to trace the immediate path 
In the aging walk paved by slow machines 
To count the cracks, avoid the crevices 
Never lift their sights to meet the solemn, lidless stare 
Of an everpresent cloud of witnesses.

If I came with songs and poems of old to clear the haze 
Would you hear the words I spoke to you? 
And should you feed thereon with faith and thanksgiving? 
No, my people, you should turn your face away 
For what are the words of the poets and prophets? 
Who can discern them? And who is willing? 
Bound in chains of darkness, we eke out feeble lives 
Tired roles we endlessly reprise 
Drinking, laughing, never seeing face to face 
Divided, we are swiftly conquered 
And the voice that crieth in the wilderness 
Is as utterly alone as all the rest.

But the Word of the Lord came to me in a roundabout way 
And as I stand upon the stage 
To call upon that ancient Muse 
I see your faces unconfused 
Behold the book which bound am I to impart 
The scroll inscribed upon a consecrated heart 
Comfort ye my people, saith your God 
For between the cold and heat there is the fog.

The everpresent cloud of smoke, the mist 
Which rises fragrant from the coals, thrice-blest 
Eclipsing faces 'midst the softly glowing light 
Stand aright! 
Our souls are spread increasing thin 
A breath, a whisper upon the wind 
The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work 
By the Self-same wrought the renewal of the earth 
Remember, O Man, that dust thou art 
A dying ember upon the hearth 
Separation, slow dispersion 
A flickering light grows ever dim 
Approaching the ultimate inertion 
And weak to contend as night encroaches on the world's o'erflowing brim: 
O Elohim, the end, the end 
Wisdom! Let us attend.

Heat Death

2013-09-14T19:28:05Z

173.206.162.207:

Three o'clock 
The city fog descends upon 
The neighbourhood 
Looking from the balcony 
One cannot see down shrouded streets 
Past two blocks.

No stars above in the endless black 
The streetside trees stretch forth their boughs 
To grasp and claw at nothingness 
Nought to see except what lies below 
The concrete track 
There alone to see 
Its every asphalt groove and mound 
Thrown in stark relief 
By lamplight that discovers 
Neither road ahead, nor sky on high 
But shutters both, and draws the gaze down.

Amidst the fog, one cannot glimpse 
The human faces of the neighbours 
The man at his piano, the girl immersed in books 
The child with its building bricks 
Assembling worlds, starfish hands curled in determined fists 
Isolate, disparate, forsaken, in schism 
Within the abysm of the mist.

Between the heat and cold there is the fog 
Human warmth spread increasing thin 
A host of embers scattered to the wind 
Losing heat without a core 
Where was the hearth, cold grey ashes 
Lifeless dust about the floor 
Separation, slow dispersion 
Of tiny points of light ever growing dim 
Approaching the ultimate inertion 
And weak against the encroaching chill of night to contend: 
Entropic end.

Only the concrete can one see 
Ten steps ahead perhaps, no more 
Heads bowed down to trace the immediate path 
In the aging walk paved by slow machines 
To count the cracks, avoid the crevices 
Never lift their sights to meet the solemn, lidless stare 
Of an everpresent cloud of witnesses.

If I came with songs and poems of old to clear the haze 
Would you hear the words I spoke to you? 
And should you feed thereon with faith and thanksgiving? 
No, my people, you should turn your face away 
For what are the words of the poets and prophets? 
Who can discern them? And who is willing? 
Bound in chains of darkness, we eke out feeble lives 
Tired roles we endlessly reprise 
Drinking, laughing, never seeing face to face 
Divided, we are swiftly conquered 
And the voice that crieth in the wilderness 
Is as utterly alone as all the rest.

But the Word of the Lord came to me in a roundabout way 
And as I stand upon the stage 
To call upon that ancient Muse 
I see your faces unconfused 
Behold the book which bound am I to impart 
The scroll inscribed upon a consecrated heart 
Comfort ye my people, saith your God 
For between the cold and heat there is the fog.

The everpresent cloud of smoke, the mist 
Which rises fragrant from the coals, thrice-blest 
Eclipsing faces 'midst the softly glowing light 
Stand aright! 
Our souls are spread increasing thin 
A breath, a whisper upon the wind 
The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work 
By the Self-same was wrought the renewal of the earth 
Remember, O Man, that dust thou art 
A dying ember upon the hearth 
Separation, slow dispersion 
A flickering light grows ever dim 
Approaching the ultimate inertion 
And weak to contend as night encroaches on the world's o'erflowing brim: 
O Elohim, the end, the end 
Wisdom! Let us attend.

Heat Death

2013-09-14T19:26:59Z

173.206.162.207:

Three o'clock 
The city fog descends upon 
The neighbourhood 
Looking from the balcony 
One cannot see down shrouded streets 
Past two blocks.

No stars above in the endless black 
The streetside trees stretch forth their boughs 
To grasp and claw at nothingness 
Nought to see except what lies below 
The concrete track 
There alone to see 
Its every asphalt groove and mound 
Thrown in stark relief 
By lamplight that discovers 
Neither road ahead, nor sky on high 
But shutters both, and draws the gaze down.

Amidst the fog, one cannot glimpse 
The human faces of the neighbours 
The man at his piano, the girl immersed in books 
The child with its building bricks 
Assembling worlds, starfish hands curled in determined fists 
Isolate, disparate, forsaken, in schism 
Within the abysm of the mist.

Between the heat and cold there is the fog 
Human warmth spread increasing thin 
A host of embers scattered to the wind 
Losing heat without a core 
Where was the hearth, cold grey ashes 
Lifeless dust about the floor 
Separation, slow dispersion 
Of tiny points of light ever growing dim 
Approaching the ultimate inertion 
And weak against the encroaching chill of night to contend: 
Entropic end.

Only the concrete can one see 
Ten steps ahead perhaps, no more 
Heads bowed down to trace the immediate path 
In the aging walk paved by slow machines 
To count the cracks, avoid the crevices 
Never lift their sights to meet the solemn, lidless stare 
Of an everpresent cloud of witnesses.

If I came with songs and poems of old to clear the haze 
Would you hear the words I spoke to you? 
And should you feed thereon with faith and thanksgiving? 
No, my people, you should turn your face away 
For what are the words of the poets and prophets? 
Who can discern them? And who is willing? 
Bound in chains of darkness, we eke out feeble lives 
Tired roles we endlessly reprise 
Drinking, laughing, never seeing face to face 
Divided, we are swiftly conquered 
And the voice that crieth in the wilderness 
Is as utterly alone as all the rest.

But the Word of the Lord came to me in a roundabout way 
And as I stand upon the stage 
To call upon that ancient Muse 
I see your faces unconfused 
Behold the book which bound am I to impart 
The scroll inscribed upon a consecrated heart 
Comfort ye my people, saith your God 
For between the cold and heat there is the fog.

The everpresent cloud of smoke, the mist 
Which rises fragrant from the coals, thrice-blest 
Eclipsing faces 'midst the softly glowing light 
Stand aright! 
Our souls are spread increasing thin 
A breath, a whisper upon the wind 
The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work 
By me hath he renewed the earth 
Remember, O Man, that dust thou art 
A dying ember upon the hearth 
Separation, slow dispersion 
A flickering light grows ever dim 
Approaching the ultimate inertion 
And weak to contend as night encroaches on the world's o'erflowing brim: 
O Elohim, the end, the end 
Wisdom! Let us attend.

Heat Death

2013-09-14T08:04:10Z

173.206.162.207:

Three o'clock 
The city fog descends upon 
The neighbourhood 
Looking from the balcony 
One cannot see down shrouded streets 
Past two blocks.

No stars above in endless black 
The streetside trees stretch forth their boughs 
To grasp and claw at nothingness 
Nought to see except what lies below 
The concrete track 
There alone to see 
Its every asphalt groove and mound 
Thrown in stark relief 
By lamplight that discovers 
Neither road ahead, nor sky on high 
But shutters both, and draws the gaze down.

Amidst the fog, one cannot glimpse 
The human faces of the neighbours 
The man at his piano, the girl immersed in books 
The child with its building bricks 
Assembling worlds, starfish hands curled in determined fists 
Isolate, disparate, forsaken, in schism 
Within the abysm of the mist.

Between the heat and cold there is the fog 
Human warmth spread increasing thin 
A host of embers scattered to the wind 
Losing heat without a core 
Where was the hearth, cold grey ashes 
Lifeless dust about the floor 
Separation, slow dispersion 
Of tiny points of light ever growing dim 
Approaching the ultimate inertion 
And weak against the encroaching chill of night to contend: 
Entropic end.

Only the concrete can one see 
Ten steps ahead perhaps, no more 
Heads bowed down to trace the immediate path 
In the aging walk paved by slow machines 
To count the cracks, avoid the crevices 
Never lift their sights to meet the solemn, lidless stare 
Of an everpresent cloud of witnesses.

If I came with songs and poems of old to clear the haze 
Would you hear the words I spoke to you? 
And should you feed thereon with faith and thanksgiving? 
No, my people, you should turn your face away 
For what are the words of the poets and prophets? 
Who can discern them? And who is willing? 
Bound in chains of darkness, we eke out feeble lives 
Tired roles we endlessly reprise 
Drinking, laughing, never seeing face to face 
Divided, we are swiftly conquered 
And the voice that crieth in the wilderness 
Is as utterly alone as all the rest.

But the Word of the Lord came to me in a roundabout way 
And as I stand upon the stage 
To call upon that ancient Muse 
I see your faces unconfused 
Behold the book which bound am I to impart 
The scroll inscribed upon a consecrated heart 
Comfort ye my people, saith your God 
For between the cold and heat there is the fog.

The everpresent cloud of smoke, the mist 
Which rises fragrant from the coals, thrice-blest 
Eclipsing faces 'midst the glowing light 
Stand aright! 
Our souls are spread increasing thin 
A breath, a whisper upon the wind 
The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work 
By me hath he renewed the earth 
Remember, O Man, that dust thou art 
A dying ember upon the hearth 
Separation, slow dispersion 
A flickering light grows ever dim 
Approaching the ultimate inertion 
And weak to contend as night encroaches on the world's o'erflowing brim: 
O Elohim, the end, the end 
Wisdom! Let us attend.

Heat Death

2013-09-14T07:59:09Z

173.206.162.207:

Three o'clock 
The city fog descends upon
The neighbourhood
Looking from the balcony
One cannot see down shrouded streets
Past two blocks.

No stars above in endless black
The streetside trees stretch forth their boughs
To grasp and claw at nothingness
Nought to see except what lies below
The concrete track
There alone to see
Its every asphalt groove and mound
Thrown in stark relief
By lamplight that discovers
Neither road ahead, nor sky on high
But shutters both, and draws the gaze down.

Amidst the fog, one cannot glimpse
The human faces of the neighbours
The man at his piano, the girl immersed in books
The child with its building bricks
Assembling worlds, starfish hands curled in determined fists
Isolate, disparate, forsaken, in schism
Within the abysm of the mist.

Between the heat and cold there is the fog
Human warmth spread increasing thin
A host of embers scattered to the wind
Losing heat without a core
Where was the hearth, cold grey ashes
Lifeless dust about the floor
Separation, slow dispersion
Of tiny points of light ever growing dim
Approaching the ultimate inertion
And weak to stand against the encroaching chill of night:
Entropic end.

Only the concrete can one see
Ten steps ahead perhaps, no more
Heads bowed down to trace the immediate path
In the aging walk paved by slow machines
To count the cracks, avoid the crevices
Never lift their sights to meet the solemn, lidless stare
Of an everpresent cloud of witnesses.

If I came with songs and poems of old to clear the haze
Would you hear the words I spoke to you?
And should you feed thereon with faith and thanksgiving?
No, my people, you should turn your face away
For what are the words of the poets and prophets?
Who can discern them? And who is willing?
Bound in chains of darkness, we eke out feeble lives
Tired roles we endlessly reprise
Drinking, laughing, never seeing face to face
Divided, we are swiftly conquered
And the voice that crieth in the wilderness
Is as utterly alone as all the rest.

But the Word of the Lord came to me in a roundabout way 
And as I stand upon the stage
To call upon that ancient Muse
I see your faces unconfused
Behold the book which bound am I to impart
The scroll inscribed upon a consecrated heart
Comfort ye my people, saith your God
For between the cold and heat there is the fog.

The everpresent cloud of smoke, the mist
Which rises fragrant from the coals, thrice-blest
Eclipsing faces 'midst the glowing light
Stand aright!
Our souls are spread increasing thin
A breath, a whisper upon the wind
The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work
By me hath he renewed the earth
Remember, O Man, that dust thou art
A dying ember upon the hearth
Separation, slow dispersion
A flickering light grows ever dim
Approaching the ultimate inertion
And weak to stand as night encroaches on the world's o'erflowing brim:
O Elohim, the end, the end
Wisdom! Let us attend.

Heat Death

2013-09-14T07:57:18Z

173.206.162.207: Created page with "Three o'clock The city fog descends upon The neighbourhood Looking from the balcony One cannot see down shrouded streets Past two blocks. No stars above in endless black The ..."

Three o'clock
The city fog descends upon
The neighbourhood
Looking from the balcony
One cannot see down shrouded streets
Past two blocks.

No stars above in endless black
The streetside trees stretch forth their boughs
To grasp and claw at nothingness
Nought to see except what lies below
The concrete track
There alone to see
Its every asphalt groove and mound
Thrown in stark relief
By lamplight that discovers
Neither road ahead, nor sky on high
But shutters both, and draws the gaze down.

Amidst the fog, one cannot glimpse
The human faces of the neighbours
The man at his piano, the girl immersed in books
The child with its building bricks
Assembling worlds, starfish hands curled in determined fists
Isolate, disparate, forsaken, in schism
Within the abysm of the mist.

Between the heat and cold there is the fog
Human warmth spread increasing thin
A host of embers scattered to the wind
Losing heat without a core
Where was the hearth, cold grey ashes
Lifeless dust about the floor
Separation, slow dispersion
Of tiny points of light ever growing dim
Approaching the ultimate inertion
And weak to stand against the encroaching chill of night:
Entropic end.

Only the concrete can one see
Ten steps ahead perhaps, no more
Heads bowed down to trace the immediate path
In the aging walk paved by slow machines
To count the cracks, avoid the crevices
Never lift their sights to meet the solemn, lidless stare
Of an everpresent cloud of witnesses.

If I came with songs and poems of old to clear the haze
Would you hear the words I spoke to you?
And should you feed thereon with faith and thanksgiving?
No, my people, you should turn your face away
For what are the words of the poets and prophets?
Who can discern them? And who is willing?
Bound in chains of darkness, we eke out feeble lives
Tired roles we endlessly reprise
Drinking, laughing, never seeing face to face
Divided, we are swiftly conquered
And the voice that crieth in the wilderness
Is as utterly alone as all the rest.

But the Word of the Lord came to me in a roundabout way 
And as I stand upon the stage
To call upon that ancient Muse
I see your faces unconfused
Behold the book which bound am I to impart
The scroll inscribed upon a consecrated heart
Comfort ye my people, saith your God
For between the cold and heat there is the fog.

The everpresent cloud of smoke, the mist
Which rises fragrant from the coals, thrice-blest
Eclipsing faces 'midst the glowing light
Stand aright!
Our souls are spread increasing thin
A breath, a whisper upon the wind
The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work
By me hath he renewed the earth
Remember, O Man, that dust thou art
A dying ember upon the hearth
Separation, slow dispersion
A flickering light grows ever dim
Approaching the ultimate inertion
And weak to stand as night encroaches on the world's o'erflowing brim:
O Elohim, the end, the end
Wisdom! Let us attend.