Humans need not be sacrificed
to appease the frozen beasts within:
we need not their blood,
need not their flesh.
There is a chalice that adorns an altar,
but merely for its beauty.
It is silver, not gold,
but we look at our reflections in it.
Ghosts do better than fires,
the dead are among the first we see:
but their glimmer is faint at first
until it is embraced with reckless abandon.
Does this sky beckon us?
No, it does not.
It flows over us heedless to our bliss,
our empty, frozen bliss
beneath the ice
within this pyramid.
Serious inquiries only:
does anyone expect us to care
about the emotionless eternity of freezing space?
Our lack of care compels us
to be beyond smiling,
beyond frowning
Voices vibrate a humming sound
that turns a crystal to water,
only for it to freeze
as a cold,
beautiful,
stark,
wintry
memory.