The barren plane, hushed and vast
The arrow flies and must be passed
The stage of contest, endless night
The dark undone in curtains flight
Threads of thought, like gold out-spun
Threads of thought, to braid the sun
To sculpt the stars, like wetted clay
To hold the seasons, one must pay
Coinage flowing—slick and red
Mintage of the psyche bled
Algid silence, from the tomb
Pulsing notes, as from a womb
Ruptured by the plenum’s ire
Thrumming fierce as serpent’s fire
It to be expunged—consumed
Reforged amidst the death of doom
/////Logos Literature 