Gods grew stationary
turned to stone
in a matter of decades
Pebble words fall through their mouths
each time
I pay homage with prayers.
This beach of mirrors reflects
pours blooming in twenty shades of red.
A ten-year window in the valley of the dead.
Forsaken decomposition rewound and left for the East
so as to greet ghost recordings
unleashing one syllable for each millennia.
I sit an wait until the word is said
while the languages reincarnate.
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