Broken Fractals of Time
Past, Present and Future Bleeding Out
Cracked open, the prism bends time’s weary beam — a shimmer of futures refracted through silence. Pain, the sacred forge, molds motion from stillness, and we rise, not healed, but awakened.
Through veils of realms, our spirit drifts — between the ink of stars and the breath of the void. Reality is a window with no glass, suspended by will, guided by pulse.
The universal tether pulls soft and relentless — unseen current carved in sacred geometry. Knowledge whispers — ignorance sings — the soul dances where both melodies meet.
Ticking, ticking —
The time bomb of arrival hums its perfect tension — detonation not destruction, but revelation. Every moment cracks open eternity.
Yee, winged navigator of heart’s true frequency follow not maps but vibrations, ride tailwinds spun by invisible truths — echoes from beyond, always arriving — always known.
We do not wait for stars to blink permission — summoning constellations by gesture alone. To create is not to ask, but to become — an echo chamber of divine cause.
Within the shared breath — our thoughts forge flame, not flickers of doubt but fires of knowing. No longer broken — architects of shards — each fracture, a doorway to a deeper truth.
We speak, and reality listens.
We move, and dimensions bend.
To co-create is to hold the pen while time reconfigures the page.
Confident, we stride into uncertain sanctuaries — not to seek refuge, but to rearrange walls.
We are not guests in this universe, we are the hosts — the conjurers — the pulse.
So bring your will, and I’ll bring mine —
This canvas, infinite in its hunger.
What shall we paint next?
A skyline made of thought?
A heartbeat echoed across galaxies?
~Ani Po
