Time- It is endless, spinning, never beginning. A world of night, vast in its emptiness. But filled with screaming. Screams of pain, of death Screams of loss, of loneliness Screams of silence, of stillness. We live in a world alone, trapped. But we do not go silently into that silent drowning, We fight to get free And through that struggle we are recast. Forged in the fires of tribulation Through our eternal imprisonment we are changed by Time- It is the anvil, the clay, the spinning wheel. That which breaks us, Which bends us, tempers us, Shapes us in itβs own design. We are made into beings of darkness and wind Creatures which fight back against the endless void With claws of stygian darkness that tear the flesh of night. With fangs of frigid cold, freezing the heart of frozen Time- For it it does have a heart, Then it lives in the place where all others have stopped Reveling in the absolute singularity of itself. The snow soft sharpness of death And the star bright singing's of life There we stand. Amidst the drifting ashes of crystal space There we fight. Amongst the shimmering storm There we fall. Alongside the souls of a thousand stars There in that endless, spinning, never beginning place There, in that world of night, vast in its emptiness There in the heart of Time