Dust and Memory
Author's Note: Enjoy the poem and R&R.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of Magic: The Gathering.
Summary:
It will be a triumph if memories remain in the dust of Ulamog's wake.
Thoughtless destruction
Ruin by their plural presence
Zendikar's regular roilsome nature assaults the sky
With dying disquiet through its stricken extremities
You witness the end
The colour-drained steppes, cataracts, fens, gorges and woodlands
Lands caved-in you caved in admitting no plant would grow
And before you can process
That all is dust
That you may not have a right to exist
Ulamog's processors process the scene for you
Their bone-plate faces meditating on the deep, vast tranches of nothing
Their lack of expression, the void they attend
Guts hanging out like the rich world they've peeled open
Moving ceaselessly onto the next hope to extinguish
The next life to supplant
A hunger infinite and gyrating
Ulamog and his scions, forever feeding
But the last living walls – the Zendikari – have memory
Or they did
Before Kozilek arose and their thoughts betrayed them
Bodies and world converted into textured wastes
Minds melting into inverted truths
What was at the bottom of that ravine, when in Kozilek's space, bottom translated to a direction that had no name?