SET ONE OF THE CHRONICLES OF CREATION

The blackness is oppressive
A stifling, cold dark where no light guides you
You feel clammy, cold, hot, pensive
You feel these things yet you do not
You feel nothing here
Yet you know, in ways that can not be described
That it should not be so.

At this moment of true clarity
Something happens, it happens
A change in the endless night
Greater darkness in exchange for more light.

A Song begins here. Only now.
Only here. The light is torn
A jubilant song of people
Of millions of people yet unborn.

A note piercing the darkness
Falling as quickly as a tear
But only you are here
Only you can see
You and He, Creator, Master, Manipulator
You are the eyes for people yet unborn
Remember well, for you are alone.

You finally see in the gloom
Small pinpoints of light that grow brighter by the minute
Every second they look more like light anon.

The prickling warmth fills you
Now you hear, see, touch
Now you are; light has come to you
Then all created gives one sudden lurch
The chord fades into the night
Leaving you to see the light
You are awed, subdued, by the might
Of He who created this for you alone
To rend and tear to your own patterns
Weaving a song, a minor chord, a lantern
In the darkness for the nest ones to roam
Knowledge comes with weakness
As you fall into the blackness of your mind
Brighter than the darkness
That is outside you, you know this, find it.

You are to leave, to search, and watch anon
But never remember
A grim spectre, denied to visit your small kingdom
Denied to see again that which you see now
So remember, you will not see again
That which you see now
Remember.

You are moving, roving
Always moving, never stopping to see
To rest, to dream, to be
You rest your eyes from the light
Which hurts you now that you know
Know that you span, travel eons, that it should be so
Yet it should not be so
In being not so, to you
The new is born, the old will die
Die, to be not born
Or born again --
You know not which.

You can only know that looking back
You can see what you've added
Helped create, saddled
On people not yet born, but waiting with a lack
Of life. A loss in each chord
Each new string he pulls
Songs amid the darkness.

You float in new dark
Yet maybe old
Aye, older than you, more bold.

Maybe another pulls the strings
Other voices sing
You only know your small place
To bring the life to light
A new people, a new race
New anarchy brought to face
People, things created with a small chord
Small they are yet large, chaotic
Disrupting the harmony or the lord.

One small string
In one endless flute
But a binding nonetheless
But such harmony may not suit
May twist off His finger our marriage ring.
Pulling farther away from the mother
To the all, the Lord, the Master of every
String pulled until all breaks and you create another.

The song has been sung again
A song such as never beheld by mortal ears
The second time since remembrance
You look, no sense, the one you left
And now you know why you can not return again:
The lights still form, dissolve, the centre rots
But still it expands, unable to pay for the richer lots
And at the centre lies the cause of the Wrong:
They, mortals, your creation, your pride
If you know the meaning of the word in the feelings you so well hide

They break the chord, and end the song
The glorious song, ending on such a bitter note
Yet you still form, still add another touch
Still right the balance in your own way, so wrong
So wrong how all creation, with you a speculating
Changing spectator changing the rating.
The song, the cry of your string as it weaves
It’s final note, plays to the very eaves
Of creation, and light
You turn and finish the string as the light shines again.

It fails, as you watch with your new-burdened heart
No longer fast enough, no longer caring
No longer thinking about it marred, the art.

Slowly it hits you
The loss of old, no new
You fall, despairing at the loss
Remembrance brings you
Pain burning, light blowing, tossed
Tossed like the old, the string pulled too far.

You feel pain, burning pain
Your "vision" blurs and water covers the land
Tears of love and loss blaze
So long denied with every thought
With death and memory they were bought.

You see, through the haze
See life once more
Creation unmarred
And through your love and sore
You hear happiness and joy
The grafting of you and He
You are like a boy
First of Many.

Somewhere you hear you Father laughing
It is good, you land, you live, do not tarry
You are the chord! For good or ill
The road is your alone. You are at the tiller
The string grows taut.

Remember,
A voice on the wind
Remember, my Son
The laughter I give you, to create.

You grin at this gift
You cry, and do what the pain allowed naught
You do what many have sought.

You laugh, and it is good
You turn down the straight road
Mindful of the curves and bumps
And leave, to being again
You will stay here now, forever.

Far off, beyond all
The string is untouched, waiting for the dream to end,
Waiting for the inevitable to pass,
Waiting as always for the fall
Of each new string He pulls
Oh, these songs amid the darkness!

SET TWO OF THE CHRONICLES OF CREATION

O, these songs amid the darkness
Myriad in every way dreamt by he
Born to be more, yet not less
Than the songs sung by she
Mother of us all
The lover, carer, nurturer
Who calls to us as the ruler
Of the gardens we grow so tall.
These strings so carefully kept and cleaned
By she who searches for every seam,
Cleaned by eyes so old and weary
That have seen the stars of all the realms
In goodness and in glory, but still so wary
So wary of the truth in light imbued.

She changes everything she touches
In so many ways we can not dream
Nor see that all deaths are not what they seem
Everything she touches changes.

You see her, radiance undimmed
Pure in a holy way for she is holy
Age has not dimmed this, nor mimed it in anyway
For she is natures essence and Mother in every way
Beautiful in every sense
That nature tries to capture in its folly
For no hand -- no matter how skilled --
Can imprison a living soul
But still it tries to and creates at best a foal
And so the hand, for all it’s wonder, is stilled
For none may rival her, the Mother, the Lover
Of all he created, now with you shared.

The voice on the wind has a new note, one of love
For she has come. All is brightened, the wind
Is like a lake the waves calm and the Dove
Her symbol of peace, has come.
But all love, as love, may have sinned

He loved not her but their creation
And now she sees not the Father
But the Master and Manipulator
But still you watch. The myriad songs are lost in the light
But the bent strings are lost in the night
Lost because none claims them as their right
Lost in the night
Amid the darkness . . .

You remember what once was, the light
And what you naively thought would be
When he shone with she as lanterns amid the night
As a brilliance that all their suns could not rival
When they fought all the forces of creation in strife
For their creation of peace and life.
But even though they won, they lost
For love does not last forever

And then the day came when their love was not missed
After being together for so long
They sought to separate, he from her.
But such an act would break their bed
For they must remain under one blanket
For when all is done, and harsh words said
Neither could exist if the other was dead.

And so their blanket is the stars
But said light went dim as their hate mars
All that they have made and cherished
They together will not finish
For they stand apart as far as can be
Temper tantrums shattering moons
And spiteful words destroying all that is
For you may watch but not weave
And He may alter but never make whole:
Not even the cry of the dove could fill their bowl
That you have watched fill time without ending
And will see again time without beginning
But still you may hope that their love may one day be free of time
And no longer bound in meaningless rhyme.

You recall how creation was just a game:
A star to show boundless love here
The waters a symbol of tears
And a new mountain range a claim to fame.
But then She and He made it real
The ultimate expression of how they did feel.
They thought it a mere fantasy
But a power unto itself is thought
And so when it remained in time
They began to grow a little antsy.
Yet they let it remain as a sign sublime
Of their power that was divine.

Once you saw them, loving fair
The Weave spun of her golden hair,
The stars shinning in her smile
As their love was laid bare
Through the light of golden smiles.
Once their music was so free
It flowed across a boundless sea
And was swallowed by her love for he.

But such endless love has a bad side
For when his anger became a rising tide
She vainly tried to quell it’s flow,
But all she could do was hide
The Web from his great halo.
And so as once before
Anger opened a door
And evil was free to unleash it’s horror.

The stars grew dim and feeble --
Their great light now a fable --
The seams grow great and large
And cracks appear on the table
And now it is too late for them to merge.

Their anger has marred what was
And strife marred what will be,
It is too late to make amends,
Their wounds are so great they can never be friends
But even though the seam she sees
There is no way to make a patch to last.

Even now you see her
Searching every seam
For some sign or any gleam
Of hope and love that once bound her

Pride built their universe high,
Walls of adamant reaching to the sky
But those walls are now covered in thorns
And all the tears you may yet cry
Will not help them to get by.

For what occurs to them occurs to theirs,
And races began to engage in wars;
Hatred so strong he revels
It while she alone yet mourns it.
While rage reaches where love once did
Have you seen all become a Hell.

And though you have played your part
You yet wonder who it was for:
The father who let you become a man,
Or the mother who held back his hand
When your dreams he would have rent.

And though you are privy to this lore,
From whence all came and where it began
Now to them you may yet send
Love to bring back their love,
Lost in the million grains of sand
Wherein flies only the last dove:
The only symbol of the peace
That they strove so hard to make,
Yet in striving they made a wall
Losing themselves and long was their fall.

The Dove comes from their realm
Beyond the Created, even you,
A part of the endless song
Destroyed by those at the helm
Like you and they and others who
Do not know that they do wrong.

You struggle in vain to reach them
To stretch out your hands in binding
But the distance is too far
And their anger is not unwinding;
And so their child they do mar

And now off the wheel rips the hem
And their darkness is a veil
For to them it is till whole and untarnished,
But their rage has not yet finished.
And if they leave with the Dove,
The symbol will leave and make reality die
And War shall come as all shall feel
The loss of their endless love
And battles shall darken the sky.

You reach them in audience,
Her radiance is undimmed,
Mother of all and wife
Of the master, manipulator of life.

Leave, foolish one, they warn in advance
But you grab the Dove that stars have rimmed
And anger makes it reveal
It’s true form, and drops the veil
And Treachery hurtles like a lance
        So cold, O mother, it’s so cold . . .
And your death it does seal
As Hatred and Envy, Pride and Lust
Slam into you in screaming fury
You fall to darkness, fall to pride,
Fall to bitterness, fall in that endless slide;
Die to make them whole again as the once-Dove's fury
Destroys you as it must.
        Help me, father, once you loved me when not so old . . .
They roar in rage,
Your death has brought good
They love
Not each other
But wish too kill
the dove
who has . . . has
brought
such
rage
for ill or good . . .

        You can no longer . . .
        Record him or her
        The lights you have watched grow
        While creating men fail,
        Your life held your creations in a . . . row . . .
        And as you fall . . you hail
        What was made and will be . . . yet again . . .

But you see the dove die
And the worlds know their peace instead,
And that alone yet warms your heart         
For it ends their lie
And you live in solitude in the Valley of the Dead
Only this yet warms your heart.

You truly dwell in darkness,
You live in an endless night,
You watch with now warped vision
Watch the evil become less again
And the worlds feel their light
Cutting through the thorns like an incision.

But they are still angry, at themselves,
For they needed such a little one,
You, to help them see.
Their pride alone couldn’t have taken it
But together they can take it their lies
Are now no more their anger is done
And now all created gives a last lurch
As it becomes what it should be.
The jubilant voices sing as the sky is lit
With the light of peace not the dark of war.

But within the realm of the Dead
You see that the darkness amid the song
Is death and you travel freely there;
But then you see she and he led
By Death, who loved their wrongs
For their darkness made more dead here
And his realm grew with their night.

You gaze around you at the dead
And see the furtive glances at his and hers heads
And realise that their own race
Is part of the dead and staring at their faces!

And you also know, with the wisdom of the dead
That these creatures tried to make a creation
And it died and left them as the caretakers of the dead,
That these ones forgive he and she for creation
And no longer seek vengeance or destruction
Of all for they know that she and he made this real
And that to harm them would bring destruction
To that which they scorned yet is more real
Than the dead, than creation, than the eventual destruction of reality.
That this is what is meant to be and they are begging for your help bitterly.

You call to she and he and tell them
And all those who banished them
Beg admittance to creation and not face their wrath
And thus the caretakers are born and you have
Aided them yet again
So they will bring you back again
From the halls of doom.
But you cry that this will bring doom
For death is as eternal as the song
But they say that all will live long
And everyone will become part of the endless music
And their deaths shall continue the music.

And so the songs are now amid the light,
For there is no darkness to hide the stars
Shinning forth as you rejoice in your right:
To alter creation and know
That you span, travel eons
That it should be so,
That you are as eternal as your creations.

And you can think one thing amid your home:
Oh, these songs amid the brightness!

SET THREE OF THE CHRONICLES OF CREATION

You are far away from the light
Further than even the darkness can enroach
Standing where even she and he have never tried to reach
In a nothingness that reminds you of death --
For you recalling your dying and rebirth --
The only being to have had that honour bright
And you have come here to avoid their awe
As well as the fear they do not show.

Only in this quietude can you be alone
Only here can you be yourself
And not just a symbol
Only when you are alone are you truly you.
Far away you can sense those like you
Those who remember and make
And in the worlds your kind created
You see the relatives of she and he
The remnants of their far off home
Serving the worlds as the minor gods they now be
And further still, you see themselves,
She and he amidst this nothing, a blaze of glory
That is creating more than you ever could, the gall
Of them to challenge this unplace makes you bow to their capacity
To create all for those who never know what they make.

And even as far away as you are now
You feel an echo of their need, a simple wish, for their sake,
To make something of your own again, to create
Something to out last and try to defeat or break
The inevitable ending and triumph of mocking Death.

You come out of your own inner darkness
And reach out to the nothingness around you
Touch nothing and with a pressure something
Comes forth, being from unbeing
Form from the formless
A fragile order out of this chaos.
You focus and you -- your essence -- expands
Contracts becomes dissolves inverts. Land.
Elements seeing as you being them
And feel them bow to your will.
Something coming out of the darkness
Light coming
or returning
And once more you remember.

The glory of creation sings out in the nothing
Light and dark form out from unbeing
Time begins -- that which shall lead one day
To emptiness once more -- but for now, this day
The songs shine brightly and you sense
The sound growing amidst the vast silences.

For you create again as you have before
A part of you, in your own image
(An echo of your thoughts?
Is it as fleeting as that -- a mirage
No less and no more?)
These are answers you have never sought
To questions you have never dared to utter
What is change? Is each creation
Merely a part of your mind, a repetition
And then will you some say use up all your imagination
And no longer be able to bring forth again?

What are your limits? have you any
Are you truly less than she and he
Could you become them some day and could the tiny
Mortals one day become you? You cannot see
A resolution to this, in truth have no desire
To seek it yet you must:
Must know if your truth is false
And if so who is the lied to and who the liar?
What is the source of the knowledge you remember andtrust
And why do such thoughts as these pulse
Through you now, why must you be
The one to suffer such thoughts? --

Who are you to now try and defy
The very rituals and laws you have ever used
Why do you seek what has never been sought
Assume truth to be a lie?
When were you used
And by what -- are you the pawn
Of she and he, not a prodigy or son
But a petty toy of theirs
A nothing that brings something
To defy your very unbeing?

What are you?

That is why you came here alone
To escape thought, the very thing
That cannot be escaped.
And still your song sings
You watch it, the forms you have brought forth
Compelled from nothing, you do not understand
Such force and the power you wield
Even now you do not comprehend
Why you create -- why unleash such power
When death comes anyway at the final hour?

You are a bringer, a maker
But what do you make?
You have died and been reborn
Known death and been shorn
Of life yet -- and here you pause --
For though others have said you returned
You do not understand where you went
If you were truly dead or part alive
That was torn from you, rent
Away and even when with your will you strive
There is only one thing you learned:
You do not recall it. What cause
Has a rememberer to refuse recalling
What justification to sunder
The very reason for your existing?

Once before you had such thoughts
Claimed that what is was wrong
And so made another song,
Created things to continue again
Does your kind become greater
By challenging what they are?
Do you truly become a self
By refusing to accept the lesser?
Does rebellion make you better
Allow you to break non-existent fetters
Allow you to create some more --
Does defiance cause creation?

Is that why you create?
To defy knowledge and deny
Your own death? You groan
But the pain does not sate
Your agony: Do you do what you do
-- create whole suns stars and worlds ----
Just to defy Death? Are you so petty
To make life to die in defiance of the End
Are you truly this childish and foolish
That you simply make existence
Just to defy non-existence?
Do you, for such reasons, send
Life to fight unlife? Have you no pity
For all those very worlds
That you form, how can you do
Such things -- create not knowing it will
But because it will be unmade,
Do you consider these deaths instead of your a fair trade,
Worthy of the blood that has been spilled?

What purpose does such a thing have
Such wanton deaths are not a salve
On your thoughts but a bane
(A part of you wonders if you can go insane)
Is this very creation, this madness
A purpose in itself, sufficient reason
To cause such sadness
Misery and death? What makes you
Worthy to demand such sacrifice,
What had made you not rue
Such actions till this day,
What sick part of you accepted
Such a thing as the proper way?

You are . . . what are you?
A creator knowing that creation must die
The ultimate liar who believes your own lies
All things, no things
Are you part of the nothing
That becomes something?
Have you a form?

You stop. Such thought has never occurred before
When a man you knew your body
Was not your own, no lore
Tells you what you look like --
You who have made such beauty
Such grace and purpose may have no shape
To call your own.

You thought the great question should become
What are you but ignored
The first true question: who are you?
Who can you be with no true
Form -- you who have made whole suns
Passed over this most basic question.

If who you are is what you are
Then you are what?
After this enforced solitude
What conclusions can you draw
What is the focus, the first point
The fact that you cannot escape --
Not the fact that you have died . . .
Not that alone, but

That you have killed
To save yourself? No, that you have
To stop death
To halt it -- because you feel you must
Because only by doing that can life
Have meaning, can what you do still be done by you.
Only by bringing forth to die can you justify creating
What mad reason makes this so? -- you know not
But you know that it is true.
You bring the song to defy the silence
Bring brightness to defy the undark
And a flicker of hope to drown out your despair --
But you do not do it for them.
You do it for you.
Your mind writhes in pain, for this is the fact
That you have not sought, but been seeking,
The unavoidable conclusion,
The trap, the maze that cannot be escaped,
The truth that, unlike your creations, cannot die.

You are a killer.

You are the slayer, your creations the slain
Your bring them forth to end
Bring life knowing it must die
That nothing avoids death -- you give them death
So what of your defiance then?
You kill -- so are you death?

But you are a rememberer, a maker
And first of all a creator.
Can death create? You think not
But you kill, the answer you not seeking sought
the truth to "What are you"
And "Who are you"
Will never let you be
Are you a paradox -- can you be
Both the beginner
And the ender
Saviour and the destroyer?
Your very creations die sooner or later
And their deaths make Death all the greater
So do you truly serve what you wish to destroy?
But to create is not to destroy
And they die not by your will
If another slays them is their cause, you, what kills?

Maybe, just maybe, you can resolve this
Destroy the cancerous cyst
(Is it the truth?) that has invaded you
Can you find a resolution
To defy your bitter conclusion?
Is there any way that you
Can absolve yourself of all those who have died
Without being truly a liar?

You are a bringer, you bring creation
Out of non-creation, unbeing, nothing
You bring order from the chaos, something --
A song from this darkest void --
How could you do this act
If it was not permitted?
How could you have committed
Such a thing if it defied the pact
Of your existence -- and you exist
So then must you call forth more existence?
Is that the reason for your being
To bring forth more being?
Yes.

Creation is the only purpose you have
The only purpose all must obey
Whether they bring life, worlds or suns
Into being they are creators, they have
Fulfilled the purpose of all their days.

So you turn back towards this new universe you have made
And strengthen its song, halt its fade
And create not to defy death
But to defy yourself.
You are so small amidst the all
Of nothing, a miracle in yourself and to halt your fall
Into despair at your small spark
Within the vastness of the great nothing
You cause fire, the spark burns
Creations form and worlds turn.
In their own way, they are your companions
Your reason for still being.
You are a defier.

That is your reason for existing
And also for creating
To defy the very miracle of your being
The miracle that says: You are so small
So rare, why should there be any others at all?
You defy that knowledge and the evil of unbeing.

You do not kill. Life brings forth more life
And by creating the purpose of creation is done
And you look at your handiwork
And slowly, carefully take it to join the rest of All --
The rest of the great defiance -- the great work
Defying the true wrong of unbeing and unlife

Oh these songs that defy the darkness!

SET FOUR OF THE CHRONICLES OF CREATION

He stands alone and silent
Amid the deeper, darkest silence
Of unbeing, and the shadows shimmer
And dance to his will.
His voice, when he speaks, is cold
And soft, but even so the
Still dark shudders and light faintly glows.

I stand here amid nothing
And by my will form something
But if nothing becomes something
Then it must never have been nothing.
With those words, he began creation long ago,
Many far and forgotten long times ago.

He stands within the furthest nothing,
Beyond even the valley of death.
The darkness is not here.
In this place that is no place,
In unbeing even he feels an echo of old fear,
He the father, master and manipulator
Who brought creation out of nothing.
He stands now, lost and alone,
Further from creation than even he had ever gone.

Once a rememberer went further,
Travelled also beyond all in search of peace
But now he makes that one's journey
Seem like a short walk. Peace:
That is now denied to him here,
He feels only silence,
The deep solitude that sears
Into his troubled and dark thoughts.

He stands on the fence,
The solitude his pain has brought
Causes more pain by itself than he ever sought
And the focus of the pain causes him to tense.

Here. His wife, nature, his only love.
He broke that love long ago, gave
Pain in response to her pleas
And by his will the seas
Of chaos came into creation.
His anger heralds only destruction
And his anger sprang directly from his love.

It was because of her that he began the war,
But not for her. He cared not enough
For her and they both went too far.
But at least she tried to stop it.

He did not even try and thus became
The slave to his own feelings
But does that make anger and love the same?
Are all strong feelings wrong?
If they lead to that which, had he kept his thoughts tame,
Would not have damaged the song
Of creation, which he did with his own hands maim,
Then would it be best if he did not bring
Such an evil into the all that he once formed?

But his emotions are a part of his being
Inseparable from his existing
Then how can he prevent another strife
Save by ending his own life?

For he has too much power
And, due to his love and anger,
Can never guarantee the hour
Of this evil, his former
Rage, will not come again and break creations tower.

For if his existence ended, creation would not,
The answer He not seeking sought
For he formed the outline of all,
The blueprint that his fall
May have damaged forever but she
Brought life to it, gave his pictures meaning
And built the house from what he
Had envisioned, the great seeming
That could well survive his demise.

But could she? Creation can survive him
But not also the loss of her, the disguise
His thoughts had tried to make dies, falters.
Some part of him know this would be harder
For while he could give up creation
Honour holds him bound to her.

For an instant he rails against the law
And fates that make this so
For now he cannot go -- dares not go --
Into death, yet now he saw
The truth, that she was bound even more
For he thought he could survive her death
Even if creation died with her last breath
But such thoughts he did not come here for.

The question is: does he still care
(Love is too strong a word)
For her, or anything, or everything; can he share
With any other no and lay bear
His lonely self to another's stare?

He has no control of anything,
Least of all his own passions,
And now has lost everything
That was once dear to him.

So he has come out here, alone,
To the true nothing even he has never bound
To escape the very creation he made
And in this darkness has found
That he no longer loves his wife,
That their is nothing in this life
That still truly holds him to all.

But the obligations to her and them stop his fall,
His binding to she and all of creation
But why is he still bound?
What ties him to creation
That cannot be found
Within this unending night?
What still binds him to the light?

Love once bound him to her
But he loved not her but her creation
And the love broke, sundered
As he destroyed much of what they had made
And now he has lost it all to the destruction
He has wrought, her love did fade
As did the final echo of his wonder
At what he had made with her.

The fire of his love is lost
And now just an ember storm-tossed
By luck, chance, and other things
Far beyond the meagre control he brings
To all. But the ember has not died
(some part of him is still warm inside)
Then does he have any right
To end his responsibility to the light?
Does he still have in himself enough care
Not to end his creation, so beautiful and fair?

No. He has not courage enough to commit the wrong
Of ending existence's brought song.

But the song does fade:
Even she never denied that.
All which they together made
Changes and weaken from what it once was
But he still cares, even if love is gone:
All of creation still hears the song,
The endless note that brought it out of unbeing.
Why is all less now? What happened that was so wrong?

Death. That is the great night
That makes everything all the weaker
But he is death, that truth
Has always been with him, the greater
For being denied by her sight.

She refused to believe he had a dark side,
That death was an echo of the master and father,
And perhaps his despair over her unseeing caused him to slide
Into evil. The darkness eternal and forever
Was as much a part of him as she was
For all things have balance; for the creation
He formed, deaths endless destruction
Was the balancing force. For her,
Daring to bring life and living,
Time was formed to end all being
And -- perhaps only for him -- the shadow
Is now more real than that which it reflects.
And for daring to be fate
Luck has brought in an a lack of order to break
His pride so that he could see others.

They are real concepts,
They are a part of him that was
And shall be as well as her:
Then how can these shadows
Stop them from loving each other?

But jealousy is the opposite of love. If he accepts
That then their love ended because
Death and darkness became him and her
Dying to time made her old, the windows
Of her eyes showed the despair they had for each other.

They were trapped in the past,
She by time and a form of love long gone
And he by the deaths he had long
Brought to all. By the last
Destruction of his caring and love,
He has harmed her and life.
He has harmed his wife.

It took you a long time to find him,
But you have had to do to your obligations, for you died
And by their will lived again:
And as he left to be alone again, she cried
Knowing that he may have been going to kill his self
And asked you, who once went far,
To find him and help him heal.
It was not truly hard for, even muted, the star
Of his power burning bright
Against the unending shadow and night.

You do not know what he has been thinking
But you are aware that he tried to die
And that something held him back,
A love of the creation he made, a lack
Of true hatred for her, and a hating
Of all his endless lies.

You see him truly accept he is death
And from where you came her faint breath
Of joy at his living makes you smile, and you start
For he has noticed it and you see
The echo of love in his eyes, a new start
Towards reconciliation and the sea
Of chaos shudders as the song
Of light comes here, denied for so long.

He turns and sees you but says nothing.
Creation is where you will it to be, you say
Knowing that love must be the same
And a part of that light, a glimmer of something
Comes into his ancient eyes this day.
(He looks so young!) But you wait
Until he comes and asks to return home,
To his love. It's not too late
You say in response to his fears. You are not alone.

No, he replies softly, never alone.
And weeps for what has been lost
And what must be regained, and you are there
Remembering, a presence of what is
And a way back to his true home.
He follows, love shining faintly,
Becoming alive once more.

Oh this love amid the darkness:
Their song comes forth once more
And once again their is brightness
And once more , and forever, there is hope.

- Josh MacLeod, (Minor) Revision March 14, 2000