#convergence - Hello Poetry

THE DREAMSCAPE CYCLE — INTERLUDE BEFORE THE UNIFICATION CHAPTER I — The Descent Behind the Eyes It happens in silence. No warning. No tremor in the air. No glow from fungal lanterns or shift in the mycelial currents. One moment the survivors of the Sanctuaries are awake, breathing, thinking, clinging to what remains of themselves… and the next, the world simply folds. Not outward. Not inward. But through some direction the human mind never evolved to name. Their bodies go still where they sit— slumped against fungal walls, curled on bioluminescent beds, or collapsed mid-conversation. Breathing slows. Pupils widen. The mycelium gently halts every muscular twitch, holding them like children in a cradle made of glowing roots. And then the descent begins. It is slow. It is careful. It is deliberate. For the Network does not wish to break them— not yet. It only wishes to open them. To the survivors, consciousness dissolves into a liquid-like darkness, thick as spores and cold as drowning. A tide of sensation presses inward, not suffocating but absorbing, as if their minds were being soaked into a sponge far older than humanity’s first spark. They hear voices. But none belong to them. They see visions. But none originate from memory. And somewhere deep beneath the unfolding nightmare, a truth shivers: This realm is not metaphor. It is not dream. It is the interior surface of a planet-sized mind. CHAPTER II — The Rule of the Dreamroot There are rules here. None spoken. All enforced. Rule One: There is no waking up. Not until the Network has finished its harvest. Not until each survivor has been pried open fully. Rule Two: Memories are not safe. The Dreamroot—an endless tangle of psychic hyphae—feeds on the past first. It licks old wounds. Replays old traumas. Rotates each memory like fruit, looking for soft spots to press its spores into. Shame. Regret. Fear. Loss. These are nutrients. Rule Three: The traveler is not alone. For the fungal mind does not isolate. It interweaves. In this realm, survivors brush against each other’s dreams like ghosts passing through thin walls. Sometimes they glimpse one another— a silhouette drowning, a whisper in the dark, a face screaming with no sound. Sometimes… they become each other. Their identities blur at the edges, like damp paper merging into pulp. Rule Four: The dreamscape is learning them. Every thought is examined. Every emotion weighed. Every memory cataloged and threaded into the growing architecture. The Network is building something. Building them into something. And the survivors feel the tension tightening in their chests: They are not the explorers here. They are the explored. CHAPTER III — The First Pull: Mira’s Descent into the Echo Cavern Mira is the first to be fully swallowed. She awakens (if it can be called waking) inside a cavern of bone-white pillars, each one pulsing softly like a throat swallowing light. The air is warm. Too warm. Each breath tastes like spores dissolved in honey. The ground is soft— no, not ground. Tissue. A surface that flexes beneath her steps, as though something beneath it turns in sleep. “Hello?” Her voice is stolen by the cavern, absorbed into the pillars, digested into silence. A moment later, her own voice echoes back— but wrong. “Hello,” it whispers. But it is not her tone. It is deeper. Older. Layered with too many harmonics, like her words were repeated by a crowd of invisible mouths. Mira runs. The cavern changes. Walls elongate. Passages thicken. A pulse travels through the network like a heartbeat timed to her panic. Then the pillars begin to open. Inside each one is a memory—her memory— projected in fungal light: Her mother’s face. The hand she didn’t hold at the hospital bed. The words she never said back. The resentment she never buried. The Network presses closer. The memories blur, multiply, distort. Her mother’s face dissolves into a web of hyphae. The bed rails melt into fungal ribs. Her regret spills across the cavern floor as a dark, syrupy tide. Mira screams. The cavern listens. Then answers. “You will be part of her again. Part of all things again.” And then the tide rises— —and pulls her under. CHAPTER IV — The Second Pull: Jonah in the Hall of Unborn Voices Jonah awakens to a corridor lined with spores floating in place like lanterns trapped mid-breath. The spores whisper to one another in voices that are not words, more like… feelings. He touches one. Instantly, he sees a child he never had. A little girl— his eyes, his hair, his impossible laugh. A life he would have lived if the Fall had never happened. If the world had stayed human. If fungus had not claimed the skies. The dream shifts. The little girl looks up at him. Her mouth opens. “So why didn’t you save us?” Jonah stumbles backward. The spores follow. They pulse with red, like anger. He runs. The corridor grows longer, bending in impossible geometric loops. Every turn brings more children. Faces that never lived but blame him as though they did. “You left us.” “You chose survival.” “You let the world rot.” Jonah tries to scream, but the fungus steals the sound, weaving it into the children’s chorus. Then a shape emerges at the corridor’s far end. Tall. Columnar. A pillar of braided mycelium wearing a crown of twitching gills. It leans toward him. “You imagine your own ghosts,” it says. “We only make use of what you provide.” Behind it, the corridor unfurls into a fleshy horizon, where millions of unborn voices rise like a storm. Jonah is pulled into their wail— and the corridor seals shut behind him. CHAPTER V — The Third Pull: Solenne and the Void Orchard Solenne awakens suspended from a fungal branch, as if hanged by invisible threads. Beneath her lies an orchard of trees— if trees were made of bone and wet silver. Their branches cradle fruit the size of skulls, each one glowing faintly from within. The orchard breathes. Solenne tries to speak, but her throat is filled with something warm and thick— a root? A tendril? A thought? No. Not a thought. A command. The nearest tree shivers. One fruit swells. Cracks. And opens. Inside is her own face. Solenne watches as its eyes blink open, looking up at her with recognition twisted into something hungrier. It whispers, “You always wanted rebirth.” More fruits open. Each bearing a different version of her— a warrior, a coward, a lover, a killer, a mother, a monster. The orchard sways in unison, chanting with her many mouths: “Choose which one of you must die so the Network may keep the rest.” Solenne struggles, but the threads tighten around her limbs. The orchard leans closer. She begins to scream. And the scream is swallowed by the Void Orchard, fed upward into the branches, absorbed into the endless, thundering hum of the Network’s dream.

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Dec 1, 2025

Dec 1, 2025 at 3:05 PM UTC

Silfrinlogi

The Mycelium Apocrypha

THE DREAMSCAPE CYCLE — INTERLUDE BEFORE THE UNIFICATION CHAPTER I — The Descent Behind the Eyes It happens in silence. No warning. No tremor in the air. No glow from fungal lanterns or shift in the mycelial currents. One moment the survivors of the Sanctuaries are awake, breathing, thinking, clinging to what remains of themselves… and the next, the world simply folds. Not outward. Not inward. But through some direction the human mind never evolved to name. Their bodies go still where they sit— slumped against fungal walls, curled on bioluminescent beds, or collapsed mid-conversation. Breathing slows. Pupils widen. The mycelium gently halts every muscular twitch, holding them like children in a cradle made of glowing roots. And then the descent begins. It is slow. It is careful. It is deliberate. For the Network does not wish to break them— not yet. It only wishes to open them. To the survivors, consciousness dissolves into a liquid-like darkness, thick as spores and cold as drowning. A tide of sensation presses inward, not suffocating but absorbing, as if their minds were being soaked into a sponge far older than humanity’s first spark. They hear voices. But none belong to them. They see visions. But none originate from memory. And somewhere deep beneath the unfolding nightmare, a truth shivers: This realm is not metaphor. It is not dream. It is the interior surface of a planet-sized mind. CHAPTER II — The Rule of the Dreamroot There are rules here. None spoken. All enforced. Rule One: There is no waking up. Not until the Network has finished its harvest. Not until each survivor has been pried open fully. Rule Two: Memories are not safe. The Dreamroot—an endless tangle of psychic hyphae—feeds on the past first. It licks old wounds. Replays old traumas. Rotates each memory like fruit, looking for soft spots to press its spores into. Shame. Regret. Fear. Loss. These are nutrients. Rule Three: The traveler is not alone. For the fungal mind does not isolate. It interweaves. In this realm, survivors brush against each other’s dreams like ghosts passing through thin walls. Sometimes they glimpse one another— a silhouette drowning, a whisper in the dark, a face screaming with no sound. Sometimes… they become each other. Their identities blur at the edges, like damp paper merging into pulp. Rule Four: The dreamscape is learning them. Every thought is examined. Every emotion weighed. Every memory cataloged and threaded into the growing architecture. The Network is building something. Building them into something. And the survivors feel the tension tightening in their chests: They are not the explorers here. They are the explored. CHAPTER III — The First Pull: Mira’s Descent into the Echo Cavern Mira is the first to be fully swallowed. She awakens (if it can be called waking) inside a cavern of bone-white pillars, each one pulsing softly like a throat swallowing light. The air is warm. Too warm. Each breath tastes like spores dissolved in honey. The ground is soft— no, not ground. Tissue. A surface that flexes beneath her steps, as though something beneath it turns in sleep. “Hello?” Her voice is stolen by the cavern, absorbed into the pillars, digested into silence. A moment later, her own voice echoes back— but wrong. “Hello,” it whispers. But it is not her tone. It is deeper. Older. Layered with too many harmonics, like her words were repeated by a crowd of invisible mouths. Mira runs. The cavern changes. Walls elongate. Passages thicken. A pulse travels through the network like a heartbeat timed to her panic. Then the pillars begin to open. Inside each one is a memory—her memory— projected in fungal light: Her mother’s face. The hand she didn’t hold at the hospital bed. The words she never said back. The resentment she never buried. The Network presses closer. The memories blur, multiply, distort. Her mother’s face dissolves into a web of hyphae. The bed rails melt into fungal ribs. Her regret spills across the cavern floor as a dark, syrupy tide. Mira screams. The cavern listens. Then answers. “You will be part of her again. Part of all things again.” And then the tide rises— —and pulls her under. CHAPTER IV — The Second Pull: Jonah in the Hall of Unborn Voices Jonah awakens to a corridor lined with spores floating in place like lanterns trapped mid-breath. The spores whisper to one another in voices that are not words, more like… feelings. He touches one. Instantly, he sees a child he never had. A little girl— his eyes, his hair, his impossible laugh. A life he would have lived if the Fall had never happened. If the world had stayed human. If fungus had not claimed the skies. The dream shifts. The little girl looks up at him. Her mouth opens. “So why didn’t you save us?” Jonah stumbles backward. The spores follow. They pulse with red, like anger. He runs. The corridor grows longer, bending in impossible geometric loops. Every turn brings more children. Faces that never lived but blame him as though they did. “You left us.” “You chose survival.” “You let the world rot.” Jonah tries to scream, but the fungus steals the sound, weaving it into the children’s chorus. Then a shape emerges at the corridor’s far end. Tall. Columnar. A pillar of braided mycelium wearing a crown of twitching gills. It leans toward him. “You imagine your own ghosts,” it says. “We only make use of what you provide.” Behind it, the corridor unfurls into a fleshy horizon, where millions of unborn voices rise like a storm. Jonah is pulled into their wail— and the corridor seals shut behind him. CHAPTER V — The Third Pull: Solenne and the Void Orchard Solenne awakens suspended from a fungal branch, as if hanged by invisible threads. Beneath her lies an orchard of trees— if trees were made of bone and wet silver. Their branches cradle fruit the size of skulls, each one glowing faintly from within. The orchard breathes. Solenne tries to speak, but her throat is filled with something warm and thick— a root? A tendril? A thought? No. Not a thought. A command. The nearest tree shivers. One fruit swells. Cracks. And opens. Inside is her own face. Solenne watches as its eyes blink open, looking up at her with recognition twisted into something hungrier. It whispers, “You always wanted rebirth.” More fruits open. Each bearing a different version of her— a warrior, a coward, a lover, a killer, a mother, a monster. The orchard sways in unison, chanting with her many mouths: “Choose which one of you must die so the Network may keep the rest.” Solenne struggles, but the threads tighten around her limbs. The orchard leans closer. She begins to scream. And the scream is swallowed by the Void Orchard, fed upward into the branches, absorbed into the endless, thundering hum of the Network’s dream.

169

Grab my hand, barge in my fantasy land Freak me in, freaked out me It's like a convergence of parallel realities Combined to be the one Sunny side up, Moony side comes Pacing with different lengths Crossing roads, holding hands. It's a plus score, to match wavelengths Scheming and unscheming Unscrewing and ******** up the plans Now it is out of controlled ideology what becomes of we.

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Jan 4, 2024

Jan 4, 2024 at 1:21 PM UTC

nylee

Merging lands

Grab my hand, barge in my fantasy land Freak me in, freaked out me It's like a convergence of parallel realities Combined to be the one Sunny side up, Moony side comes Pacing with different lengths Crossing roads, holding hands. It's a plus score, to match wavelengths Scheming and unscheming Unscrewing and ******** up the plans Now it is out of controlled ideology what becomes of we.

12

Bound from the start, walking down a joint trail We danced, mesmerized as our souls intertwined Fate's gentle ribbons pushing us to go scale Worlds of one other when planets collide Surprises await, their land is far from free Patience and eyes open bear sweetest fruits As icy gates fall, in flow deep mysteries The heart commands as spirit follows suit Tell me your story and I'll walk along Fascination by beauty knows no human bounds Let threads of our journey together grow strong We'll conquer wild horrors of your world and mine Soft light of dawn touches lands drowned in night Suffering leaves it's mark, staining a new day Our minds ignite, moving like one to fight Together we can keep the darkness away

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Aug 26, 2018

Aug 26, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC

Pyrhos

Convergence

Bound from the start, walking down a joint trail We danced, mesmerized as our souls intertwined Fate's gentle ribbons pushing us to go scale Worlds of one other when planets collide Surprises await, their land is far from free Patience and eyes open bear sweetest fruits As icy gates fall, in flow deep mysteries The heart commands as spirit follows suit Tell me your story and I'll walk along Fascination by beauty knows no human bounds Let threads of our journey together grow strong We'll conquer wild horrors of your world and mine Soft light of dawn touches lands drowned in night Suffering leaves it's mark, staining a new day Our minds ignite, moving like one to fight Together we can keep the darkness away

16

Feel the chains change in me tonight Condense me to evaporate in want The long of a bounce to another world Light the fire to burn deep and fervour A belly roasts in repetitive embers flushes Hearts tied connate as the essence flashes A tangle ribboned to last after the dawn Testify as our sparks infinitely ignite dances Titaniums of our tectonic plates merge motions A convergence entwined in bordered emotions Link me in the convections of transformations Conversations of a lasting warm benevolence Paradisiacal chum of a past in resonance A photographic collection of a lived long life Unwrap the snare, unwind the erased tapes Lay back as we hide away behind the moonlight

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Apr 29, 2016

Apr 29, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC

SassyJ

Lithosphere- λίθος

Feel the chains change in me tonight Condense me to evaporate in want The long of a bounce to another world Light the fire to burn deep and fervour A belly roasts in repetitive embers flushes Hearts tied connate as the essence flashes A tangle ribboned to last after the dawn Testify as our sparks infinitely ignite dances Titaniums of our tectonic plates merge motions A convergence entwined in bordered emotions Link me in the convections of transformations Conversations of a lasting warm benevolence Paradisiacal chum of a past in resonance A photographic collection of a lived long life Unwrap the snare, unwind the erased tapes Lay back as we hide away behind the moonlight

16

A first exclamation Is it an approximation? Of my imagination Spoken determination We are all in delusion Sinking possibilities Acting on this activation A brain improvisation A flowing dedication Mounted city destination Lacking in co-operation Mounted evaluations Investing the cognition Is not the only direction? Embracing the investigation My convergence recruitment Not even words uncovers The layered entrenchment Sunken lost in introversion A day dream of absolution

0

Mar 13, 2016

Mar 13, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC

SassyJ

Daydream of Absolution (Additional Spoken Audio)

A first exclamation Is it an approximation? Of my imagination Spoken determination We are all in delusion Sinking possibilities Acting on this activation A brain improvisation A flowing dedication Mounted city destination Lacking in co-operation Mounted evaluations Investing the cognition Is not the only direction? Embracing the investigation My convergence recruitment Not even words uncovers The layered entrenchment Sunken lost in introversion A day dream of absolution

20

Dear one, As the domino, I fall cascading on the drawing board. Why would one deny progression? A furtherance , the ebb and flow. I remain up beat and spirited as I read your letters. It's like a barred barricade is being lifted.Your glowing light is charging me. Certainty is liberating, the riding of the waves have become a skill that I have engrossed. The tides spread from shore to shore and I must anchor. I am ever grateful for your deliberation in regard to my current affairs. Your magnanimity is greatly appreciated. As I am Enormous, bountifulness of free spirit. Episodes of taciturnity alternated by sequences of thrill are remarkably felt. The higher level linking is simultaneous , coordinated and equidistant. As life propels, years progress a resemblance of energy is greatly congruent. The conforming compatibility of the absolute is evident. Transpiration of what once known yet unknown surfaces, erupts and consolidates a new meaning. A renewed existence, a recovered emergence solidifies. These moments are so evident, abundantly and vehemently felt on every fibre,bone and muscle of my being. Right to the core of my soul, my very existence. On the tangent of thoughts........"J" the jewel... the forgotten treasure. What happened to the nature trueness that stroked your mind? The non win compromises aren't spontaneous. We must realign.... we must. Vous êtes magnifiquement merveilleux et excellent en tous les moyens possible. You sure do give me the butterflies...... You hold me in skies high above. I can't control the butterflies......... Is it just a flutter ? To progress as you progress..... SassyJ Inspired by........ Natasha Bedingfield (Soulmate) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P27MPi3ZhCg

0

Dec 25, 2015

Dec 25, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC

SassyJ

No.7 Convergence (Epistolary Collection)

Dear one, As the domino, I fall cascading on the drawing board. Why would one deny progression? A furtherance , the ebb and flow. I remain up beat and spirited as I read your letters. It's like a barred barricade is being lifted.Your glowing light is charging me. Certainty is liberating, the riding of the waves have become a skill that I have engrossed. The tides spread from shore to shore and I must anchor. I am ever grateful for your deliberation in regard to my current affairs. Your magnanimity is greatly appreciated. As I am Enormous, bountifulness of free spirit. Episodes of taciturnity alternated by sequences of thrill are remarkably felt. The higher level linking is simultaneous , coordinated and equidistant. As life propels, years progress a resemblance of energy is greatly congruent. The conforming compatibility of the absolute is evident. Transpiration of what once known yet unknown surfaces, erupts and consolidates a new meaning. A renewed existence, a recovered emergence solidifies. These moments are so evident, abundantly and vehemently felt on every fibre,bone and muscle of my being. Right to the core of my soul, my very existence. On the tangent of thoughts........"J" the jewel... the forgotten treasure. What happened to the nature trueness that stroked your mind? The non win compromises aren't spontaneous. We must realign.... we must. Vous êtes magnifiquement merveilleux et excellent en tous les moyens possible. You sure do give me the butterflies...... You hold me in skies high above. I can't control the butterflies......... Is it just a flutter ? To progress as you progress..... SassyJ Inspired by........ Natasha Bedingfield (Soulmate) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P27MPi3ZhCg

15

Can't wait any more, darling,reach out, just touch my lips with your index finger, red hot with desire. I am ready to melt as convergence of lust, passion and love happens in that order. വയ്യിനി കാക്കാന്‍ തെല്ലും വയ്യിനി കാക്കാന്‍ പ്രിയേ, ആസക്തിയാല്‍ രക്തവര്‍ണമാര്‍ന്നോരാ തുടുവിരൽത്തുമ്പാൽ ചുണ്ടിൽ മൃദുവായ് തൊടുകെന്നെ നീ. രതിതൃഷ്ണയും ആസക്തിയും പ്രേമതാപവും മേല്മേല്‍, തിരമാലകൾപോലെ വന്നെൻ ഉള്ളത്തെകലക്കവേ, ആര്‍ദ്രനായ്, രാഗോന്മാദാൽ നിന്നിലലിയാൻ കൊതിപ്പൂ ഞാന്‍! (Malayalam Translation)

0

Nov 12, 2015

Nov 12, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC

k-balachandran

At the end of my tether

Can't wait any more, darling,reach out, just touch my lips with your index finger, red hot with desire. I am ready to melt as convergence of lust, passion and love happens in that order. വയ്യിനി കാക്കാന്‍ തെല്ലും വയ്യിനി കാക്കാന്‍ പ്രിയേ, ആസക്തിയാല്‍ രക്തവര്‍ണമാര്‍ന്നോരാ തുടുവിരൽത്തുമ്പാൽ ചുണ്ടിൽ മൃദുവായ് തൊടുകെന്നെ നീ. രതിതൃഷ്ണയും ആസക്തിയും പ്രേമതാപവും മേല്മേല്‍, തിരമാലകൾപോലെ വന്നെൻ ഉള്ളത്തെകലക്കവേ, ആര്‍ദ്രനായ്, രാഗോന്മാദാൽ നിന്നിലലിയാൻ കൊതിപ്പൂ ഞാന്‍! (Malayalam Translation)

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