Cataclysm and Echo

Particles resonate over the water, causing elliptical blemishes. Merry, frenetic streams rush into the smoke; they infest the viscous wild. And here the world becomes of memory. To cross the staggered threshold is laboring: we keep our heads up and continue to miss what is ahead. Ill-begotten greatness washes over the ill bodies. The ground swells and depresses to a splintered dirge— song with so much an echo as silence. Remand this grief with every breath, and shake the terror from your shoulders. All is yes, lost.