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Who Lies Sleeping?

Who lies sleeping? 


Dreaming stratum dreams, stone thoughts that age by long, long, long ticks. 


Who lies sleeping? 


Down and hidden in the pages of the mightiest book, where each word is a mountain and every sentence a millennia; across composed works beyond human hands. 


Who lies sleeping? 


Memories undone by the winds, achievements erased by the lashing sea, defeats forgotten by the hungry flames. The earth swallows, the earth destroys: the earth forgets. Empires vanquished by the enemies that forged them. 


Who lies sleeping? 


Eggs. Envoys of a nameless past. Embryos fresh and angelic and half-formed, like so much possibility sliding unbothered in their amber stasis. The old-world, the banished world, whispers it’s memories and forgets it’s sins in those fresh minds. Machines of rock and gravity tick, counting every stroke in particle decay. Waiting to raise. 


Who lies sleeping? 


No one. 


Not anymore.

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