Consumption Poem by Thomas Ware

There is evil:
The rage and hate of man,
Killing with abandon,
The huge will beyond comprehension,
Seeking to rule and destroy,
The perverted conscience of the powerful,
Wanting only strength.

Yet, greater than these are none.
The resonance of lonely spaces,
The blackness of abyss,
Never can consciousness equal,
The decay of light,
The corruption of majesty,
The rot of ages.

When good and evil abandon space,
This force devours,
Leaving only quiet;
Among these silences,
Something may rise:
The heartbeats of the void.

Machines cease and life ends,
Then mutates,
Comes back from the shallow grave,
Covered in filth,
And blood,
And worms:
This life returns,
And festers.

Quietly fungus and algae vanquish,
A peaceful conquest.
Darkness and light are shaded,
Tinted into grey.
For stasis is the only constant;
The stasis of the unformed,
The stasis of Not.

A desert still thrives,
Even the deeps are colonized,
But in the dank, forgotten corners of civilization you thought you knew,
The toadstools grow,
The DNA mutates,
The order is perverted and all ceases,
Save the witch lights,
Save the swamp fire,
Save the deadly phosphoresce that you think may lead you out.

The glittering wisps float maddeningly through,
Leading you to freedom:
The liberty of undeath.

For morality is illusion,
The only true power is that of empty,
For never can nothing be fought,
Never can the void be filled,
For time turns on,
Bringing to a shuddering and slow halt,
All dreams and nightmares,
Bringing hope to its knees.

You may believe it can be swayed,
Or slowed,
But it can only be accepted.

The tides move on and eventually the moon slips...
Silently out of orbit,
For nothing is eternal save eternity.