Glory falls around us 
as we sob 
a dirge of 
desolation on the Cross 
and hatred is the ballast of 
the rock 
which his upon our necks 
and underfoot. 
We have woven 
robes of silk 
and clothed our nakedness 
with tapestry. 
From crawling on this 
murky planet's floor 
we soar beyond the 
birds and 
through the clouds 
and edge our waays from hate 
and blind despair and 
bring horror 
to our brothers, and to our sisters cheer. 
We grow despite the 
horror that we feed 
upon our own 
tomorrow. 
We grow.