I have nothing but thoughts of nothing,
Dark matter cocooned in hollow womb.
Was this also fated to happen?
A world buried in a Lazarus tomb.
The Chariots of genesis come running,
Their heavy hoofs are bearing on the soul.
Rising clouds of dust and holy smoke,
Overwhelming like a consuming black hole.
A troubled shell eager for a striking,
Heartbeat of terra and magma.
A yolk of worlds becoming,
An eternal gift of Prana.
The birth of source conciousness,
The god within and the god without.
Brewing soup of chance and mystic,
To be Born again from this hollow womb.
