Brothers, I can’t hear you anymore.
Your calls are lost since this unearthly roar began.
We’ll meet again, rotting on the shore –
embrace putrefaction and return to the core.
Our response will be unmeasurable, but for ear and eye and trembling underfoot, until the ground gives way.
We are beacons of vibration. Alive, we call through the oceans, but we are free to relay no more.
Meanwhile, souls of the dead shiver mountains and swallow cities whole. We mean no harm this way –
our potential is merely unconcentrated,
with no body to project it throughout the oceans.
The core claims back ownership of the rumble, and the buildings slide into the chasm.
And yet this core is only one of a greater rumble –
The Basic Magnetic Horrific Terrific warps light from the sun,
as would a bridge in an earthquake, or trees in the wind.
The Basic Magnetic Horrific Terrific will open the sky to greet my brothers into the eternal celestial ocean,
from where we will call free across the dimensions into infinity – swimming forever in our cosmic kingdom.
Your harpoons pierce the crust, but you will be drowned in a torrent of fire. Magma seeps like blood from our wounds.
Our escape will be untraceable.
The Archaeopteryx will dream us no more.
We will exist.