And that is how the world ends
Not with clatter, nor with whining
But with the murmurous stammering of the blind
Forgetful of their own fall
This is the blood of the world, streams of ichor
Brooks of the warm saliva on the mouths of hylikos
This is the substance of the chalice of Mathew
Shapes without form, shadows without colour
Words without meaning, potentiality without purpose
Radiating life