Poor trapped soul
Thinking light the better part.
Afraid of deep shadows
Where forgotten things remember.
Being found in Matter
Light is finite.
The Nothing is infinite
Being as it is unmeasurable.
The Nothing is cast aside in jealousy
Of its limitless potential
To birth into Khaos all primordial beginnings indefinitely.
It is the source of all Light
And its End.
Radiant Sun, poor bedfellow to my Mistress’s velvet indigo,
Ruling over broken numbers as a god resplendent.
Mind how you speak to rising Forces
Which direct you onto living fields.
You are the servant not the master.
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