Post by Soldier 76 on Sept 13, 2016 4:34:04 GMT
There is a tired grave that awaits me,
It is in this brief embrace I unite with all that was.
It is the silence in the void.
I am a small craft, on a milky sea.
All that was to be stretches out before me.
I wonder briefly at it's sordid tales,
how it might teach me what formlessness is,
What might it speak on the great path of this black maw.
We are simply passengers,
Bound to this crashing vessel, this aching boat.
It creaks with the ripples of eternity.
It screams with the weight of it's mere existing.
This is what becomes of me, staring into the abyss.
It becomes neither tender, nor madness.
It is silent.
Silent is the Void.
This stretching languid picture of stars, and their winds,
catching on sails, waves on an unfamiliar ocean.
This is the grave I choose,
To die where whole worlds, societies and species come and go.
Perfection in this agonizing dance.
This staunch reminder of life, that even within the cold grasp there is light.
There is warmth in the echoing absence of it.
Beyond this fragile flesh is truth.
Soft, hard, sharp and smooth; I understand nothing.
My soul is a part of this dance, my mind cracks under pressure.
The chill starts to bite, but numb fingers are unnoticed.
I have touched them, these wondrous things.
I have observed their sacred dance,
As star turns to dust, to ash, and returns dimmer but alive.
Death is not an end, it is rebirth. From red to white.
They still rage against the night.
The endless blackness, the encroaching cold.
They rage for they have to, as I must move on.
Bitter tears of vengeful gods, these husks.
Bitter pills yet remain.
Monsters of the Cosmos, hungry empty pits,
Not even the grace of light might escape, yet I skirt by.
Matter, information, space it's self crushed into the hole.
This is true terror.
Onward yet, we must move onward.
I have to reach the moment, the flash of light, the end of beginnings.
For there the tired grave awaits me.
For there I find the silence.
I must move onward, my body frail; my breath weakens.
I cannot fail yet, my stone has not been carved, my plot yet undug.
The chill claws at the frail life still beating, like the dark monster tears at the void.
The voice of resurgence, the call to act.
I cannot stop now.
Breath is hardly drawn, heart hardly moves, is this the end of the tunnel?
Like a dream my eyes gaze upon the inferno, the beginning.
This is the tired grave.
The end of the beginning, I falter.
Failing, even the warmth of that endless moment dulls not the pain.
It offers nothing but a warm embrace.
A baleful goodbye; as I sink into the loam of the universe.
And I am set free,
Unhindered by flesh, all creation lay before me.
For this brief moment I am immortal.
And Silent is The Void.
It is in this brief embrace I unite with all that was.
It is the silence in the void.
I am a small craft, on a milky sea.
All that was to be stretches out before me.
I wonder briefly at it's sordid tales,
how it might teach me what formlessness is,
What might it speak on the great path of this black maw.
We are simply passengers,
Bound to this crashing vessel, this aching boat.
It creaks with the ripples of eternity.
It screams with the weight of it's mere existing.
This is what becomes of me, staring into the abyss.
It becomes neither tender, nor madness.
It is silent.
Silent is the Void.
This stretching languid picture of stars, and their winds,
catching on sails, waves on an unfamiliar ocean.
This is the grave I choose,
To die where whole worlds, societies and species come and go.
Perfection in this agonizing dance.
This staunch reminder of life, that even within the cold grasp there is light.
There is warmth in the echoing absence of it.
Beyond this fragile flesh is truth.
Soft, hard, sharp and smooth; I understand nothing.
My soul is a part of this dance, my mind cracks under pressure.
The chill starts to bite, but numb fingers are unnoticed.
I have touched them, these wondrous things.
I have observed their sacred dance,
As star turns to dust, to ash, and returns dimmer but alive.
Death is not an end, it is rebirth. From red to white.
They still rage against the night.
The endless blackness, the encroaching cold.
They rage for they have to, as I must move on.
Bitter tears of vengeful gods, these husks.
Bitter pills yet remain.
Monsters of the Cosmos, hungry empty pits,
Not even the grace of light might escape, yet I skirt by.
Matter, information, space it's self crushed into the hole.
This is true terror.
Onward yet, we must move onward.
I have to reach the moment, the flash of light, the end of beginnings.
For there the tired grave awaits me.
For there I find the silence.
I must move onward, my body frail; my breath weakens.
I cannot fail yet, my stone has not been carved, my plot yet undug.
The chill claws at the frail life still beating, like the dark monster tears at the void.
The voice of resurgence, the call to act.
I cannot stop now.
Breath is hardly drawn, heart hardly moves, is this the end of the tunnel?
Like a dream my eyes gaze upon the inferno, the beginning.
This is the tired grave.
The end of the beginning, I falter.
Failing, even the warmth of that endless moment dulls not the pain.
It offers nothing but a warm embrace.
A baleful goodbye; as I sink into the loam of the universe.
And I am set free,
Unhindered by flesh, all creation lay before me.
For this brief moment I am immortal.
And Silent is The Void.
