In the end,
Time is forsworn.
Corruption of odorous presence,
Seeps through the timeline,
Unknowingly grasping with fading talons;
The shadow of the future come to haunt the past.
Machinations of negation hum, focused.
They, above all things effectively,
Process that-which-is into was;
Ephemerality as commodity.
Though The Black Stain persists,
The Lord demands patience,
Holding at bay by divinity-pure,
The collective and consumptive sin of all.
Praise be to Him,
Who gathers his stray and shadowed children,
To hold and to whisper:
“Though my children may stray,
To their Father they shall find their way.”
In the end,
The Earth is reborn.