I’ll spy the sun
As it engulfs you
In its fiery wings
And glided threads
Weaving elaborate
Patterned figures
Chiseling away on
Your ivory flesh
Leaving only
Echoing halls
Where no soul shall wander
no voices heard
is the old saying true
“When a tree falls in a lonely forest, and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?”
Will you be heard?
Emerging from your burning shell
Remitting your greetings
Vibrating gently
Across the solace sky
Stirring what once was still
Into chaos
Attracting the courtesy
Of all the abyss
For now,
you exist.