The message
And they came in their nanoglass billions
(counting their light years in doomsdays)
to lay at the feet of the Master and die.
Endless trails of tiny, faithful stars
(lives abandoned, data discarded).
Simple surrender to the power of ten.
Through impossible distance the Voice had called
(the Net revealing its final purpose).
Once.
Twice.
Three times the summons.
The Message burned in hearts and headsets.
And now the silence in humble orbit.
Priests in gas caskets
awaiting the hour
the purpose
the Voice.
But it never came.
Ramshackle they took themselves up,
insane of hip mother natures
and blind watchmakers.
Lighting their journeys tearless,
through dark, nameless regions…
to begin again
the lonely process
of life in a human universe.
