Death and the soliloquy, turn a blind eye.
Side the heavens till morn, ever riding...
The hills converse a warning;
Eternity’s change of robes, fray,
Friar’s tongue decays to feed the rising earth.
Water of the sea ascend, frothing, vaporising,
Hues to view prismatic reality.
Survival of the fit, write to dust
Which hardens to stone,
Hence weathered lessons and eroded teachings,
Meet the sea, ascend once more and again

Never alone; blood of all-father spills through cosmic waves.
What beyond all could comprehension entangle?
Smoke and mirrors, abstract reality, true reality...
To whom?
That great thing from which we and all we see are born?
Nothing should be,
Yet by these accustomed laws perceived,
Everything has its place to be.
But from what does all this appear?
How is that to begin with?
What did something begin from, when truly nothing should exist.