You close your weary eyes and pray
For tales spun to bring you forth.

A deep descent, an echoed crack,
Barrage of blades lodged in one’s back,

Basking in the full moon’s light,
The silver lining in the night.

Upon the step, one shall wait
For violent storms to dissipate.

An entity, a simple sight
Of suited stature in dim light.

Upon a drum that makes no sound
One tracks the moves of souls abound.

The last of callouts is in place
To silence thou and save thy face.

We gather in a circle; now let our tale commence
For those who know the rules, and of every consequence.

There’s a universe held close in tales spun
Where we’re all our own, but also one.

Has the cycle already begun once again?

Are we blind in black and white?
The world runs in color.

The sky grows dark as dusk fades into night.
Another day passing, another conversation.

Autonomous. Cybernetic.
Distantly cold. An open book.

Within the realm of tenebris, one explores uncharted time.
There is no sound, only the faintest of rings within one’s mind.