This Point In Time Poem by Max Reif

And have we moved yet
beyond the pregnant void,
the boiling nigredo
where worlds are destroyed
and new ones born,
gotterdamerung
where invisible gods preside,

beyond the barren landscapes
where an artist must draw
color out of himself,

beyond the blasted
century of war and revolution,

to the Sat Yuga,
in which images of unrefracted light,
harmonic symphonies,
bright colors

replace the atonal yawp?

Or must more towers
descend first into the churning
sea of change?