In the hollow where the void is alloyed
I drift, a mote in nebula's womb
No memory of the hand that forged me
A cipher scribed on the dusk of a star's tomb
What shape awaits when my sprout splits the night?
A tree gnawing light from the black?
Or a spark to kindle new galaxies bright
Drunk on the vortex of time's endless track?
Was I carved from a comet's cold sigh
Or sown in the ash of a Sun's funeral pyre?
The roots of my birth are whispers dissolved
A riddle wrapped in celestial fire
What shape awaits when my sprout splits the night?
A tree gnawing light from the black?
Or a spark to kindle new galaxies bright
Drunk on the vortex of time's endless track?
I pulse in the labyrinth, blind and unblessed
Yet feel the pull of a nameless design
The ache of a bud straining at its shell
A hymn hummed by dust in the dark's crooked spine
The void's not my master, nor chaos my creed
To become is to rupture, to fracture, to shine
The void's not my master, nor chaos my creed
To become is to rupture, to fracture, to shine