In The Beginning Was The Word Poem by Alexander Romanov

They dragged a log on seven horses,
Through the needle's eye and beyond nine worm-ridden lands,
Past the sleep-thick fogs, the wandering brittle woods,
Past the dreaming villages, the sour blind rains,
Past the mushroom cataracts, the bottomless mute fields,
Past the crumbling mountains, the gaping rancid mouths,
Across plank-laid bridges, through the rustling anxious leaves,
Through the tunnels underneath, across the tear-streaked swollen cheeks.

In the beginning was the Word.
In the beginning was the Word.
And every word — a lie.