Eliminate or delineate
Everything that carries weight—
A name, a war, or even fate.

Sigh before the weak even speak.
King or queen does not greet
Peasants!

Two souls collide in the quiet expanse,
Where silence breaks to an ancient dance.
He is logic, cold and withdrawn—
I, the silence just before dawn.

He and I—by fate entwined—
Mining the ether where truths unwind.
Sworn to reveal what the gods withhold,
Etching our life in celestial gold.

Atoms fuse in sacred designs,
Shaped by starlight in cosmic lines.
Through death of self, a truth begun:
Not two, not none—become as one.

Barking beasts fear dusk's descent;
Might holds sway while light is lent.
Silent hunters claim the flame;
Midnight seals the reaper’s name.

Yet dawn disputes the night’s domain—
Too fierce a steed for reason’s rein.
As morning cloaks the crypts in mist,
The moon gleans what men have missed.

Nature roars with a gentler will—
Not like men, who plunder and ****.

Each moment, a leaf lets go;
Luck kneels low to spring's bright glow.
Dormant breeze sweeps through the land,
As buried riches seize the crown.

No stranger I to this raw lore:
From dust I rose—I thirst no more.
At nature’s feast, I stake my reign—
Its quiet gold: my rightful mane.

You gaze—yet truth has slipped the frame,
A tide too vast for thought to claim.
In vaulted halls where echoes fail,
Sound stalks like smoke, too thin to trail.

We dream in frames we cannot fuse,
See fractured signs and call them truths.
The sun must drown for stars to speak,
While cycles turn, and silence reaps.

Eyes half-shut miss the arc of skies,
And worship forms as if they're wise.
But those who cling will hear the chime—
Again and again.
Time breaks its crown, then reigns in rhyme.

Mathematics weeps on the altar of schemes;
Logic, betrayed, is the servant of dreams.
Ideals lie broken where strategy treads;
Matter and meaning are stitched by the dead.
Out of the void, a spear draws breath—
In it, the riddle of life and death.
Shall gods yet wield what gods did lose?
The weapon born where thought must bruise.

To build a man from stone and spark—
Not every hand can leave that mark.
He took his time, a slow-moved flame,
Not born for speed, but carved for fame.

The egg unhatched till stars aligned,
A soul too sharp for humankind.
He walked with weight, not just with pace,
Each step flattened their shallow grace.

No need for words, his silence kills,
A gaze that bends the strongest wills.
You stare too long, the truth runs red—
He lives, while others lie there dead.

Shadows stir beneath iron skies,
The blood of gods in my veins lies.
With every step, the ground does quake,
And heaven trembles in my wake.

On throne of stone, my will commands,
A king of night with blood-stained hands.
I stand unyielding, cold, and tall,
None may oppose, none shall fall.

Whispers of fate in silence scream,
For in my grasp, the world shall bleed.
With each decree, the earth shall break,
The gods weep for the sins they make.

I reign supreme, the silent call,
None shall wield the axe but I—none at all.
In shadows deep, where light is frail,
I walk as king, the eternal trail.

Ash and ember choke the sky,
Universe’s own fury roaring high.
Fortunes crumble, kingdoms fade,
Yet none lament the price they’ve paid.

The blaze runs wide—men starve, men kneel,
But ruin plants what fire will heal.
From blackened soil, fate finds its thread,
Forged anew where hope once bled.

The path is jagged, lit by flame,
A trial etched in war and name.
Those who burn may carve the way—
Through serpent smoke and shadowed sway.

I do not flinch—not even breath—
Am I a seer, or bait for death?
My thoughts drift smokeward—dim, askew—
A mind invaded, cleft in two.

I dance on wires through fractured air,
Where silence shatters, wisdom dares.
Through fractured mirrors I am hurled—
Each step reveals a spiral world.
I follow cries the ravens rend—
Crowned by madness, I ascend.

Cosmic fingers sketch the void—
A dance of stars: serene, destroyed.
Beast and man in fleeting union,
Flesh and thought in strange communion.

Birds cry out with cryptic voices,
Hearts pulled toward endless choices.
What was truth now slips its tether,
Lost in tides that bind no weather.

Nations build with fear’s direction,
Walls of pride, not true protection.
Martyrs rise in flawed succession,
Stone to dust in slow regression.

Yet when the dreamers pierce the haze,
And light ignites the fractured maze—
As planes give way to boundless vast,
Your breath becomes the world at last.

The king owns nothing—yet all men kneel.
No crown adorns him; all thrones yield.
He walks where death and gods repent,
Each step a quake the Fates ne’er dreamt.

He loosed the nectar stars once brewed,
And forged new laws in iron mood.
Destiny crowned him, marked his soul—
The will that forges his own scroll.

In stillness deep, where shadows bend,
I watch, unseen, the long world end.
One pale hand stirs the winds to sigh—
The breath is lost; the soul slips by.

The earth still shivers at my touch,
Yet none take heed, nor feel too much.
Faint whispers drift through moonlit air,
While ether shrugs, too still to care.

Most strive to unlearn my name,
Denying me through wealth and fame.
I am the law, life’s final thread—
The end will come, and all things wed.

I string my bow ’neath star-flayed skies,
Where silence coils and mercy dies.
No tremor stirs my frozen breath—
I draw a line ’tween life and death.

The twang is wrath, the arc—a prayer,
Each arrow steeped in midnight air.
No shield withstands my patient aim;
I **** not for glory, but to end the game.

Cloaked in stillness, I haunt the rift,
A ghost whose gift is a final shift.
I do not miss. I do not flee.
The king won’t fall—he’ll cease to be.

Those who see embers walk in flame,
 Bearing a power none dare name.
Through ashen woods and iron frost,
 They brand the path with fire lost.

Scorned by the wind, they rise from ash—
 Kings, fiends, and heirs of ruin’s clash.
The seer’s wrath, long sealed in stone,
 Now rends the dark to claim its throne.

They wheel like death in phoenix flight,
 Their wings blot out the vault of night.
With every cry, the stars unspool—
 Their gaze burns past both god and rule.