The Age that took our purpose.

I.
There were gods
in the cracks of stone,
and every shadow
had a name.

II.
They planted their lives
like seeds beneath the sky,
and called the harvest
a reason to exist.

III.
The bells rang.
The fields breathed.
The dead
were still part of the world.

IV.
Then we built a cage
from our own comforts,
painted it gold,
and called it progress.

V.
Now the lights never die.

Neither do we.

We simply remain.