Enlightenment Poem by Evgeniy Filimonov

Trust in we,
for we have written, studied, and foreseen.
Heed not the gentle clash of whispering winds.
Nor shadows of the postured.
They have none of what we twelve.
Trust not in the achromatic glaze.
For it is instinct and myth.
Return up the patterned cliffs.
Our minds we promise to yours.
Listen all, you bandaged, you severed.
Your songs speak eloquent,
yet your faces still covered
Ascend to our pedestals,
gather your torches
and march to the seas.