The sinuous hands of light try
To hang on, yet they cannot, and
In a scene echoed in eternity,
They slip once more from the land.

In their absence, never sleeping darkness
Sweeps across the fields oh so quiet,
Rushing in like a flood of nothingness,
Like a fountain, spewing clouds of nebulous night.

But out of the tangible nonexistence
That night seems to bring,
There is a birth of light and beauty,
The Starfield pierces the black, velvet covering.

Birth from nothing, that is The Beginning.

The Beginning that echoes with lesser majesty, forever more.


+ Lor.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Aequitas, in the year 401 AF.