Once there was a creature, born from the infinite. Once there was a creature, born from the living and the dead. It came to being one starry night, in a field made of gold. Through the barren floor from cosmic light, grew a divide splendor sored. Through heaven and below the creature shouted and it roared. It had no idea what it was to become, so it tore at it’s own soul. Split at birth a trembling it caused, through earth wide high and low, not of beast or storm or seas, or crumbling down in rights to be free. But within its bosom life swirled round, winds pulled against their own. Force and gravity fell alone, by the banks of darkened stone.
The creature roamed to and fro, cursed with time unknown, path in chaos lost in cause, survival the only thing known. Plant and animal fell the lot, to a rubble mass splitting dark. By this dark the creature lived drifting on day till night. It passed in shadow till torment was a maddening desolate yield, after the star gaze did die, still hope at life denied. Move not under the sun to shrill, silver twilight woke the night. Clouds came heavy, they came strong, the creature howled betrayal’s song. Forsaking the cave, sky, land, and grave, all that it had ever known. None had a place to offer home, none could see their very own. Sitting at the end of horizon’s light, where the deep began circles bound, where no one saw a wandering soul, and the creature was alone.
Years and ages pass in seam, the creature from winter’s nigh, saw a meadow in an iron crater, will of bronze, and a looking eye. Then it clawed for a songbird sung, song escaped fists and growl, fallen back wept on the ground, loss of love never found. Out from the stone shown layers Ancient Life and Time collide, two braided halves of color, woven from the soul of each other. They clothed the creature with a strong oak wood, growing in height and roots, stretching across the core metal spin went on searching for a name to win. Reigning life in a combustion dawn, breathed an essence covering all scorned. Above the hills and lands wide go, under hard ground beat on beat thrives. Long cycles of wind, sea, and earth, combined crashed a temperate tide.
And in this storm the creature asked, “Is there any that are my own? “The answer came in a whirling tone, “You are our own named, True. Here always, born a fire stone and water air blue.” Sweeping wonder and calming shutters, in waves of peaceful dew, wrapping rays of layered life, creating a place home for True. Now under the night moon creatures romp, and beasts leap noise jubilee, after sleeping safe those trees and dreaming quiet ever seen.