Destroyer (The Final Titan)

I am the withered hole, old
  and vacant of
the composed leisure
  and titillating, romantic atmosphere
  of the invulnerable people;
all so modern, raising modern children
that shall live and grow and die here.

Here, in a corner of the universe
where humans are
  made of stale breath, pressed
  into glass jars and copper skulls
decorated with jewelry
  and topped with white cornets,
all dressed for masquerades
beneath gas-light lamps
  among the Paris streets.

I am an ancient monument,
  void of sympathy for the soft skinned
self-assured businessmen
  and the insistent, whining housewives
and the cowardly  teen who turns
  to follow every expression
  and every vision of the world.

I have dozed, curled and watching the earth
  hearing the qualities and tones
across the gulf that separates
  the seen from the unseen.

But soon enough the ground shall crumble
  beneath the soles of human feet
  and every notion that they are alone
shall fail, immeasurably
    then, scattered abroad
  from housetops
  and from mouths and from trees
shall come the shout that breaks the trance
and forces them to see
  that their leisure and all their atmosphere
  modern though they be
can withstand not even the slightest breath
  when God himself does breathe.