Prophet

Sing the silence back from the brink,
where smashed and useless artifacts
balance in their godliness.

Tell the echoes what to shout,
remind the rocks who made them,
carved their windshapes,
gave them voices.

Write the writing on the wall,
fiery finger pointing,
showing the blind the way.

Never forget the greed
that tore down the green,
hoisted machine over man,
and flung antimatter in the earth’s eye.