Tiamat

The knowledge is carved in the act of the self, A separation of names from the self. Twin paths in the knowing, the passing of light, The start of the severed, the end of the sight. The thunder awakens the work in the soul, The border is burning to swallow the whole. The walking is measured in echoes of change, The rise of the order, the vastness of range. The joy is the first of the unified one, The glory of rising, the heat of the sun. The self is the record, the knowing the spark, The action is weaving the light in the dark. The place is the anchor, the time is the gear, The house is the spirit, the boundary of fear. The fading of limits, the song of the mind, The naming of parts that the shadows defined. The form is the phantom, the picture the cage, The discord is written on every new page. The gathering storm in the unity's bed, The weight of the silence, the words that are said. The capture of laughter, the hardening bone, The giving of self to the seat of the throne. The struggle of parting, the release of the bound, The seed that is hidden deep under the ground. The reaching for order, the logic of space, The movement of stars in the drift of the race