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A recorded reading of “The Cathedral of Dust”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
In the grand cathedral of forgotten time, a titan of bones rises from the haze, its marrow dissolving into plumes of dust, ashen clouds coiling like unsaid prayers. Sunlight pierces fractured windows, its golden beams a dirge for the dead. Each rib arches like a ruined column, a shrine to life once whole, now hollow. The pelvis cradles silence, an offering, its hollow bowl spilling ghosts of ages past. The skull grins wide, unrepentant, bearing witness to cycles unbroken. Dust consumes the polished marble, its tendrils twisting in ethereal blooms, a slow erosion of memory and stone. What god is worshiped here? What relic endures when flesh turns to fog, and time exhales into nothingness? The air hums with decay, yet beauty lingers in the ruin. Each collapsing bone tells a story: of grandeur, of collapse, of rebirth. For even in destruction, creation stirs— dust settling into cracks, seeding the foundation for worlds unborn. This is not death, but transition, a hymn to the eternal cycle: to rise, to fall, to scatter like whispers in the hollow halls of infinity. The titan fades, bone to dust, and the cathedral sighs, its breath heavy with the weight of becoming.
Lyrics
In the grand cathedral where time forgets, Bones rise, dust lingers, no sun sets. Ashen prayers coil through fractured light, A hymn to endings, eternal night. Ribs arch high, like columns bare, Hollow shrines to what was there. A skull that grins, unbowed by time, Witness to cycles, decay, and grime. This is not death, but a fading song, Where dust and silence both belong. Creation stirs in ruin’s embrace, A whisper of worlds yet to take their place. Dust consumes where marble stood, Erosion blooms where memory would. What god endures, what relic stays, When flesh is fog and time decays? The air hums low, the bones collapse, Each fragment falls, each story gaps. Yet through the ruin, seeds take hold, In dust’s embrace, new life unfolds. This is not death, but a fading song, Where dust and silence both belong. Creation stirs in ruin’s embrace, A whisper of worlds yet to take their place. Bone to dust, the titan fades, The halls exhale, the echo stays. A hymn to cycles, to rise and fall, The weight of becoming within us all.
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