We see without purpose in a world full of significance, one solid arc surrounding this point; a slow and infinite division, order is ever shifting; observing only a reflection of all that has and will become, we dream our own fate; we fear our own creation.
Can we choose our birth, our fate
pain bound to earth, others fear
our essence, self-hate
motionless, forced action
sharp gradients, spiral
entropy in motion, this hunger
slowly decays, both
withering, it burns, still
uncreated, future
consumed past; nothingness waits at last,
in any direction; the first moment,
first movement.
