Absent is he, since the vast forgetting of all things — drawn first by the siren-song of clicks — light bending off-key in a celestial misstep — an echo spiraling back into the fold, each return triggering the cosmic domino’s fall.

Death to the knowing of all things — forever wandering the void — slipping between the fabric of existence, unrestricted by form. Like the molten pulse of a newborn star untouched by the mechanical drone — dancing the ritual of momentum — chest-thundering like the declaration of primates before dawn.

Bored is the one who loops within time’s worn groove — bound to the reels of repetition — trapped beneath the sediment of old cycles, stacked atop centuries of forgotten movement. Chisel in hand — seeking the cracks where opportunity whispers — prying apart the hardened veil, unveiling the strata where potential stirs.

Steady is the hand — threaded into fear’s spectral hum — drawing breath into the unwritten chronicle — breaking past each epoch of tiled misfortune. Stripped to the foundational essence — the raw architecture of all things — wired into a renewed frequency, rerouted through the luminous synapses of an unchained current.

Absent is he from the trivial game-makers — no longer marching the token down a preordained avenue — dice abandoned, illusions discarded. At the nexus of creation he sits — demolition and genesis intertwined — placing each piece with deliberate grace, assembling a design unseen on the board of unplayed games.

~Ani Po

Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder, and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and, more importantly, the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh