Flaming Horns

Creeping outward from the abyss of aeons.

The mouth of impenetrable gloom.

In dreaming death their voices can be heard.

The horrific fleeting images, ghastly phantasms

Of half-remembered futures.

Eyes now open, once shut against a bleak Utopian hell.

Questions fall without answer.

Into the blinding ignorance of faith, and all is lost.

But lost only to these faithful fools,

Whose bodies line the walls for further

Than ones sight will allow.

Whose skulls answer the screaming darkness

With a perpetual groan, in the immortal agony

Of their final moments.

The minds eye, pressed increasingly toward the flaming horns,

Burning the ether to nothing upon their approach.

The twisted, searing horns

Forever advancing with the awareness of aeons.