For our thoughts are in fusion, with our creation.

We are the dirt that froths in the production.

The blood that spills from the lame dying man.

The tears that weep from the childless-woman.

The cry of an orphan.

The pining of the famished.

The unquenching thirst of the desert.

The floodings of an ocean.

The solitude of an ex-sibling.

The dust that rises from the cremation of the father.

The eradication of a dwelling.

The resurrection of a destruction.

We are our own extermination.