The quiet hollow, the boundless breath,
The womb of silence, the right of death.
Not born of matter, nor shaped by hand,
I am the void left behind to expand.
As they fall into me, their endless cries,
Ambition’s echoes, lustful highs.
Good and Bad, their fleeting claims,
Fuel my depths, stoke my flames.
For I am the hunger that cannot be fed,
The dream that lingers when light has fled.
Through their striving, I take my form,
A vortex of calm within their storm.
I grow with the divide of what they seek,
I grow with their yearning, their fervent peaks.
Cries of triumph, cries of the meek,
I grow as they rise, and I grow as they break.
I am no tyrant, no cruel decree,
No voice of command, no will to agree.
Only the reflection of all they see,
The mirror they fear, the truth they plea.
They call me void, they call me despair,
I am what they feel, they’re unaware.
Every love, every loss, every fight,
Swallowed whole by my depth, infinite.
From Shadow's spark to restless flame,
They created me; I bear no shame.
For every division, every rift they make,
I widen, I deepen, with each mistake.
And yet, I cradle their fleeting years,
Their hollow joys, their darkest fears.
I give them purpose, a truth to defy,
A space to question, to wonder why.
Let them build and let them break,
Let them tremble and let them ache.
For I am their mirror, their silent call,
The endless chasm to devour them all.
-- Pradeep K (Prady)
No comments:
Post a Comment