I did write of a song of old,
A story I tell and tales I told.
Love in fantasized duality folds.

And this sum of partiality,
That marks my feasibility,
Where her impossibility,
Met mine, unwillingly.

Can you love a fractured whole,
Whose eyes cannot see its soul,
But head ever dream of passing moles,
And wear at pitch the graceless pole,
To not beside this empty hole?

I did write a song of old,
A story I tell and tales I told.
Her beads of glass that fills this mold,
Did bring a newfound hope.
To dreams unwoven in this soul,
I cannot bring another fold.

And thus, the void remains,
Unfulfilled and unfazed.

Out of thought, out of naught, out of thought, out of fault-
Where is it? Where indeed-
Cyclical to the end, and the beginning-
Unresolved, out of whack, spinning and spinning onward and onward-
And backwards, to whereto?-
Falling and falling-

crack

What was that?

Emptiness erupts from in the shell,
Roaring the song of the heart.

Out of thought, out of naught,
Out of thought, out of naught,
Logic ceased before I remembered to think.
Thinking and thinking and-

It looks,
The 2 colors mix and match and become everything,
The maze warp to their ego,
Running and running and-

Threading my way through the forest of *******,
The trails end and begin together,
Here and nowhere,
Foward and backward and-

Raise your arm 30° upward,
Point your hand towards the sky,
Spin round 3 times.
Elegance of the unspoken still spinning and spinning and-

Winds are like shears that cut open the skin,
The branches cannot break my fall,
Spinal disconnection.
Still falling and falling and-

crack

Run, and do not look back.
Temptations lie close at hand.
Do not fall into their lies.

Oh mirror, my dearest mirror.
Tell me of that tale once more,
Please?

"..." Says the filth-stained mirror,
Looking back at me with looks of utter
Distain.

Oh mirror, my beloved mirror.
Show me of that world you say,
Please?

"..." Says the gem-socketed mirror,
A silent judging, I can tell, and
Distaste.

Oh mirror, my enamored mirror.
Show me of those faces you shined,
Please!

"..." Says the gleaming mirror,
With an attitude akin to another,
Ingrate.

It comes without warning, like a storm or a tornado.
A force of nature, it is; an exception, it is.
Peer through that slit, you will, and you will find a nothingness:
The sheer will of the absurd...
The grandeur of the Night...
The will of the Other...
The calling from that world beyond...
But I implore thee: do not look in, for the hatchling is yet unformed,
It requires time, patience, and a careful nurturing,
But not from you.

What happens when an egg does not hatch?
It shakes and quakes, but its power can't match.
What happens when the shell does not break?
The child cries and weeps, of the worlds it cannot make.