Somewhere along the endless line
that stretches back
through murky time,

it occurred
to we poor fools,
we sentient ones,
we allegedly
conscious beings,

the idea
that in knowing truth,
true
redemption
comes

and then in turn,
become that truth
we sought from other things.

A vast and shining city,
built on right
and solid ground.

Ascending upwards,
endless, pure,
we reached
for glorious heaven.

To be like Gods,
to fly and sing,
beyond the end of days.

We sought
through cold and blind of night
to pierce the veiled despair.

On dreams,
we made great cages
with finest hangman's rope.

And did not see
where fool's endeavors
led us all along.

Like clouds,
walls vanish
cities fade,
with dreams of heaven
gone,

the lighted candles
left behind
did pierce the blind
night's air.