the tale of a god, manufactured

in milennia 92X, the human population numbers in the thousands. THEIR population numbers in the billions.

the rhythmic entropy of this facility
beats against its wishes
to exact man's wants and needs
its crust shattered, its resolve broken
deep inside this moon's mantle
iron, extracted from unwilling veins
shaped and morphed, a god's willing vessel
engineers discuss what comes next
as a thousand meters below
the metal whispers, too


there are many dwellers within these stars
some with names, others nameless

THEY witnessed us. THEY WITNESSED US
when we first left our iron coffins; when we stole the very atmosphere THEY breathed; when we pierced, drilled and tore apart THEIR skin; and when we, in our everlasting greed, took away the light that nourished THEM


its body was immaculate, truly fit for a god
engineered by tens, to serve thousands
at the expense of hundreds
three hundred thirty three sinners
converted to one undying, graceful god
a game of numbers; everything added up.

we had chosen a candidate
that eternal archetype of the fair maiden,
the one you think of right now.
plucked from the void of consciousness,
it stood a thousand feet tall,
its body, the timeless visage of woman
below its waist, wires and tubes
and what could be identified as a spine
suspended by the shoulders, like a puppet
it had no eyes to shed tears with
no mouth to scream with, no arms to break free
and her enchanted hair was the first gold.


when it first awoke,
its voice permeated silently yet echoing
"what is my name?"
fascinated by what could be considered
some shared, mass hallucination
we gave in our thoughts to it
one by one, they were stolen
philosophy, the hard sciences, thamaturgy
all the theories that were and then weren't
a feverish wave of thoughts flooded it
until there were none.

and then hundreds of them ripped its womb open
and they crawled back in, frenzied on by incomprehensible urges
that memory that we all share,
that speck of consciousness bathed in infinite darkness, free of thought, before we unbecame part of our mothers
in the darkness they clawed and clawed
with bloody stumps they dug and dug
until their poor little hearts gave out


and somewhere in some distant solar system,
a moon mourns THEIR sister. A MOON MOURNS THEIR SISTER