Born from Nothingness,
From Nothingness it came:
Sphere without flaw or imperfection,
Lifeless being of boundless might.
Aglow with intelligence,
Its own existence both exculpation and blame.
Primordial shadows eliminated,
Illumination of the emptiness, of the night.
In an ocean of vacancy,
Of Darkness, adrift, the sphere spun within
Thought. It’s own, perhaps, or from elsewhere,
Had made the ocean for to roam
That endless in between place marking a first and last dawn,
And with na’er a difference between end and begin,
Ere black rivers unexisting would find their tributaries,
The sphere return’ed home.
First light, first dawn, first movement be:
What being made from branch and stone
Walks upon a world half formed?
What softly played music blooming forth from infant ground
Will sound a tune to the only ears awake to harken to its call?
Earthen giant, sturdy, but alone,
For whom dost thou tend, for what end dost thou harvest?
Seek out thine sister ever changing, ever present, ocean bound.
Nothing living naturally thrives in solitude.
A piece of itself torn willingly, thrown true
Into the endless, boundless ancient waves
Begotten of earth’s bone, and not left behind,
But instead glorified and formed, oh body of water,
Oh seamstress of raindrops, sculptor of the dew,
Rise unpredictable and unchanging from your bubbling din,
Rejoice with your kindred in both immortal body and boundless mind.
But your work cannot be continued thusly; nay, for thou art incomplete.
Whose core of passion could exist but beneath the earth,
Whose spirit could be so eternal and unerring,
From whom was first light and first warmth born?
Travel deep and true, son of earth, water daughter,
To find thine kindred’s untouched slumber from birth.
From stoney heart, watery thought, fire did awaken,
To light the darkness, to condemn the forlorn.
Atop the half formed world gathered they three,
Those firstborn daughters and son of the land,
For from none to three, still they were incomplete.
Gazes pointed skyward to the high cloudy plain,
They called out to the very fabrics of the air,
And the last son came forth, storms of change held in his hands.
At last, these kindred were united, but, alas, something remained amiss.
Then came a sound to shake that half formed world: tunes that will na’er come again.
With the tears of water came the rivers and lakes,
With the sighs of earth came the grass and the trees,
And soon the first songs were forgotten in gray.
For with the command of fire the boundaries of the world found limits,
With the laughter of the wind came both maelstrom and breeze,
With the roar of the gales of the cosmos came the stars high above,
Their triumphant song alighting the great beacons to show the way.
And those beacons gazed down, purposefully and joyful,
And with their coming birthed the concepts of space and time,
And the firstborn saw their visions completed, and grew weary of song,
And in thankful rest their eyes did close.
Now years later, when the world is not so young, and tales are mixed and disputed,
A meeker race walks over that ancient gallery, with so many mountains still yet to climb.
Will they ever remember that first great music,
Or shall they forever be left in the wake of the lives that they chose?