by Shikiyu
In a world of blue and green,
a single drop of color fell.
Born from the far end of desire,
it devoured every blessing it touched.
Perhaps it was always
meant to become what it became.
It entwines, resists,
and without ever stopping,
seeps outward—
slowly, relentlessly.
Seen from afar,
it spreads like a quiet stain,
turning the earth
back to its muted brown.
Ask what this existence means,
and no voice
will answer you.
The tendrils of evolution
drain whatever they touch,
corroding as they feed—
yet still, they reach,
stretching forward,
breaking everything
in their path.
The end of this hunger,
this craving for blessing,
is something
no one dares to look at.
And when everything
is dyed in that same brown,
people will seek new blessings,
and set off
for somewhere else.
—Humanity becomes
the maker of its own blessings,
a new kind of creature.
And if all of this is
the unseen intention
of the star that nourishes us…
then perhaps
what we call “blessing”
is only what slips
through our limited hands—
a belief held
by fragile beings like us.
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 9:48 AM UTC
by Shikiyu
In a world of blue and green,
a single drop of color fell.
Born from the far end of desire,
it devoured every blessing it touched.
Perhaps it was always
meant to become what it became.
It entwines, resists,
and without ever stopping,
seeps outward—
slowly, relentlessly.
Seen from afar,
it spreads like a quiet stain,
turning the earth
back to its muted brown.
Ask what this existence means,
and no voice
will answer you.
The tendrils of evolution
drain whatever they touch,
corroding as they feed—
yet still, they reach,
stretching forward,
breaking everything
in their path.
The end of this hunger,
this craving for blessing,
is something
no one dares to look at.
And when everything
is dyed in that same brown,
people will seek new blessings,
and set off
for somewhere else.
—Humanity becomes
the maker of its own blessings,
a new kind of creature.
And if all of this is
the unseen intention
of the star that nourishes us…
then perhaps
what we call “blessing”
is only what slips
through our limited hands—
a belief held
by fragile beings like us.