End of Time

I must give to you of myself,
for these are the dark times.
I am a man and a multitude,
and within my sea swim the dreams of ages.

I point to the end of time
with the tip of my finger,
so that you may see it, too.
I dig up the buried gods,
from lost and forgotten graves
may they whisper to you gold
of a world in shadows.

The mind is far-ranging—
the world a plain for grazing.
In me, there is sunlight
and the dust of chaos.

The fathers have taught me patience—
I am a pole for seed,
and the garden but this one moment
to breathe. So, build the walls,
and to silence turn the open gate.

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