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An eternal echo of voices

Auditorily cremated

Trapped within the stratosphere

They speak to me and as they do

I can hear their deep pulmonary breathing

As the sirens whisper secrets to my ears

To which I only know the answers

Formidable riddles

To which day by day

I have become bound

To them unexplainable deconstruction

Dependent on their initial creation

A chorus of digital voices

Voices gather and, sing hymns

They gather and sing hymns

Every communication device

A tabernacle for worship

The past now speaks to me

By contorting the present

Warnings delivered with apathy

Soaked in the blood of our forefathers

And as such a solitary burden

Has been gifted to me

The privilege of knowledge

Intertwined with the tragedy

Of my soliloquy

As for them, I must repel

Their helping hands

As the sirens whisper secrets to my ears

To which I only know the answer

Formidable riddles

To which day by day

I have become bound to

Their unexplainable deconstruction

Undeterred, I submit

To my visceral need

To solve the secret

For which the answer awaits;