The sky had shifted with a thud,
a monstrous rectangle, alien and still,
landing among the Lilliputian crowd
like a fallen piece of thunder.
Its black glass face stared back,
cold and starless. An unknown moon,
a silent oracle we could not trust,
holding no answers, only questions.
First came the spears, sharp and sure,
the bravery of small bodies unshaken,
chaos erupting like torn spider silk
as the behemoth refused to bleed.
Then, the vibrations—a low growl,
a pulse alive with no heartbeat,
its voice an echo, hollow and strange,
calling out to a world too big.
Shields raised, toes curling in dirt,
we gathered courage from confusion,
striking its surface with all we could muster,
only to shatter a reflection of our rage.
What kind of god forgets its tools,
throws lightning to the ants below?
Still, we fought it futile, believing,
to crack the mystery of the silent beast.