Frozen in worship
before the grand litany,
I trace the circle
of the hydra-headed wanderer.
Through unseen tides,
twixt nether space
below a sea of stars,
sovereign to declivity,
The demiurge path;
where deities seldom tread.
A shadow made from light.
The astral womb,
prelude to the ether,
forever birthing
space and time.
Hollow and deep, the declivity
bespeckled by narrow shafts of light
seeking weary eyes to glimpse its secrets:
the path to the world below.
Prostrate, enslaved,
the enigma of being
chained to a metaphiysic construct
deciphering slowly the tongue of time,
eroding my shackles.
I have witnessed the rise of a billion foreign suns
Breaching horizons of untold chaos
Heedless of sentient life,
The first light
flows endless through the lacunae!
Mercilessly I was changed
perceiving the memories of the universe
granted through astrologic epiphany
in phantasmagoric horror.
Volute and volatile, in every cosmic age,
the diviner of natural law.
A heart with no form
a pulse with no source;
Barren, but fertile;
Pregnant, but sterile.
I have been shown every conceivable end.
I've followed the journey of every ray of light.
The end of every story,
the birth of every soul...
The stream flows through me...
The birth and death of worlds
scrawled upon the canvas of the cosmos,
written in the pathways of stars
as they ebb through the river
beneath the universe.
Leading to ecstatic horizons.
The birth of a trillion worlds.
The river of the firmament
twists and bends through
the heart of every planet.
Witness the eternal dawn of chaos
swell from nothingness;
A despondent dance of matter
scoring the future with striations
in a heliospheric tongue.
As if gazing at a cosmic mirror,
shards embedded in the night,
ensnare me with kelidoscopic visions
Bore into me, the infinitude of being.
The astral well of souls is overflowing
Every tale of birth and death ascribed
Upon the darkened tapestry of time
A stream of aeons forging through the dark.
You speak the wisdom of the celestial sphere
of a universe scattered with life,
and immeasurable oceans of stars.
Black voids of endless violence,
constellations of writing mass
Endless realities
in cataclysmic chaos...
And the thread...
the thread that binds them all.
Abstract wisdom
gleaned from the solar forge.
A grand knowledge of the ages
spelled in the language
of constellations.
A language of light
a dialect of time.
The light is hidden
in the void,
drowned in darkness,
obscured...
I see the weary light of ancient stars;
Stellar music of the solar wind.
Constellations of dead stars
and worlds yet to form.
If every strand of light is aged
then everything I've ever seen is ancient
from the faintest spark
to the vastest supernova.
I have left behind my terrestrial sphere.
I have cast aside my naked form
to spread vast and wide
to feel as time itself
feels.
Populated blackness
scored with chaos
photons on their solemn journeys
drowned in darkness,
obscured...
Drowned in darkness,
a stream of aeons...
Drowned in darkness,
obscured...
The light is hidden
within the void...
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