Call of the Serapeum
Thought to appear as dreams Imperceptible in what are deemed the waking hours
Edifice looms ahead Beckoning us to return
Blood of martyrs seems still viscous
In Archaen tongues come whispers of battles past
Hear the call of the Serapeum
Have we, ourselves, trod the prophetic soils?
Images of Parabolan misery
Galilean shells scrape pure flesh from bone
Sphere binding beacon emerging
Earlier glories exceed time and space to envelop immortal
Chorus
Through that ethereal extends the primordial basis of all being
From cosmos fed Innumerably dammed streams
Inescapable overlapping of dilatory obstacles
Tributaries carve aeon-old paths Often erratic
Yet invariably reabsorbing as one
Heed the call of the Serapeum
For these visions come not haphazardly
Portentous temple blood abiding
Rejoin ancient channels racing still
Towards that which we have sought
