A vast architectural cacophony,
The archive groans with calcified despair,
A monumentalized antimony
Suspended in the sulfurous, thick air.The gargoyles, in their lithic lethargy,Peer down at Thorne with cold, cyclopean eyes,While spirals of a lost liturgy
Ascend like smoke into the leaden skies.The silence here is not a mere negation,But a positive and dense opacity,The quiet of a failed civilizationUndone by its own dark mendacity.He enters through the portals of the past,Into the gloom where shadows have been cast.
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