Following fires that bore into the land

like storms driven by lightning,

I see horizons cast deep,

flung by powerful, emboldened arms.

There, in that crease that folds mystery,

I can see a future 

where ten billion differing beliefs 

disintegrate into one. 

Where the inside-out clarifies 

why slavery can finally die. 

The sovereign is integral.

It is not cut-off from the motherload.

The pocket of gold spreads everywhere. 

There is no mine to find.

We are it. 

There is no have/have not.

There is only illusion.

The program.

The lie.