All being is the Echo of its Absence
Nothing appears as real to me,
Each truth reflects uncertainty,
Like mirrored ghosts in crystal’s sea.
Behind them hums the gleam’s decay,
And walls of night conceal the ray.
Beyond that wall, the void resides,
Where darkness from itself divides,
And absence in its womb abides.
The broken face reveals no hue,
It sees not me—yet I see through.
My eyes compose a cosmic glass,
Where light and self together pass,
Each fracture dreams of what it was.
My window yearns to meet its frame,
But strikes the dark and burns in flame.
I fall, the world within me folds,
Its edges blur where meaning molds,
The night absorbs what light upholds.
We spiral both to find our core,
Yet find ourselves and nothing more.
Does cosmos live if none can see?
The witness births reality.
Mind’s eye defines its alchemy.
Each thing is born from what it’s not,
And void divides what time forgot.
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