Apeiron! Primordial fabric!
From which newborn atoms all fearfully flee
And so drawn to the blade that severs horizons
Cosmic dagger that knows no sleep

Emanating from the source of unbearable pain
Vibrations ascend, pentatonic, with shape
Congealing in crystalline echoes of chaos
That whisper the origins of divinity's reign

Enveloped in the dust of creation
And cloaked in nocturnal
The first, the five
The few, the eternal

The ensuing storm
Perpetuating genesis
Texturing the air
With the chromaticism of untamed forms

Therein lies the pool
Where dissonance births the murk
A lone vapor rises
A willing breath of the earth

Enveloped in the dust of creation
But bathed in diurnal
The children, the twelve
The many, the immortal