I once had a dream, one about a maze,

It had no straight lines, and no line was the same, 

They were not curve, nor round, 

but a towering construct of impossible angles and shapes.

There was no entrance, nor exit known to man,

But they all knew, deep in their hearts, "That is where the Gods remain",

And each attempt to get in,

Resulted in death and disgrace.

Centuries passed while I remained in this very dream, 

Laying down on the grass to watch that cyclopean maze,

Civilizations came and went, like nothing,

But men never ceased trying to get there where Gods remain.

Centuries became millenia, 

The grass became wastelands,

The sun slowly decayed,

And even the air now made men afraid.

I didn't move an inch, 

Nor I ever had ceased to observe, 

The world of men has never had eyes for me,

Because they only cared (and really only cared) to break in where the Gods remain.

I now watch their very last efforts,

As war machinery tears down, wall by wall, of the humongous maze,

No God is to be found, but a bottomless hole in the ground,

The men, stopped in silence, hopeless, for the first time in ages.

Fear first consumed the hearts of men, then there was shame,

Which turned to curiosity, and then became bravery,

They all jumped in, one by one, into the void that remained, 

Never to come back, godless, it died the age of men.

Lord M.