In the stillness, a pulse persists,
a rhythm where the soul insists—
to wander deep, to pierce the veil,
to find the truth within the tale.

.

.

The shadows stretch, the light recedes,
a dance of quiet, ancient deeds.
Not battles fought, but hands that weave,
the dark and bright, the joy, the grief.

.

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Beneath the stars, beneath the skin,
the endless void begins within.
Yet in the void, a spark ignites,
a quiet fire, a boundless might.

.

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We are not whole, we are not torn,
we're every dusk, we're every dawn.
Each thread we spin, both coarse and fine,
is part of something vast, divine.

.

.

Step forth, unguarded—no need to fight.
This is the place where shadows meet light.