The Painting on the Wall
It's a question as old as the
sands of Mars
And has laid buried beneath the surface
For ten thousand years and more
Of erecting spires
And painting mammoths on our walls.
Now it rises
from the bright red planet
To dare us answer before our gods:
What becomes of our special creation
If we are
but one of many,
And how many Calvary's must there be
To save a billion living planets
And the strange
humanity
That struggles there?
What green
tentacled Jesus
Stands rejected
And waits
in the garden
For her Romans to come
And play
out their part in eternity?
Upon this rock, so lately found,
Ripped and tossed into the Antarctic cold,
We
will build our future and seek our messiahs
Among the dying
embers of an infinite universe.
