The pedestal held the grail up high From the cusp of the golden seaA metal sheath hid her treasure from the skyAmid that forest without a tree
The hands that wrought the grail coldly quaveredAs they anchored their vessel upon the sandsBut the vesicle’s burning soul neither waveredNor spoke truth of its makers’ dread commands
Ground zero, go nine-twoThe hand struck to tenTick by tick it slowly flewTo reforge the world again
The third moment ponderously frozeAs the dunes all held their warming breathAt two, all the makers’ eyes shut closeTo hail the coming of the shadow of death
One and the world unknowingly sawAs nil came, and infinity followedThe grail felt the touch of maker’s clawThe maker into the cauldron’s depths was swallowed
The grail spilt holy waters upon the landAnd anointed its surface as the first accursedA fungal cloud grew from the garden of sandAnd from silver sheath did golden light thus burst
The brumous air was set ablazeAs bright inferno seared the darkest massThe chalice waters began to glazeThose ancient sands with ebon glass
At last the cleansing flames recededAs the makers cheered and stood blinded in aweThe ash and dust ephemerally retreatedBut the peril below, none truly saw
Thus were many of those chalices forgedTo find light amongst a black crucible of fearsAs scores of gardens were in darkness gorgedUpon the dying droplets of the grail’s holy tears
But buried beneath those primordial sandsLays the first chalice still, under wooden beamsMade once only by forgotten makers’ handsIt will stay to remind them, to outlive their dreams