On Cue

From the depths the Word arose:

A glyph of mystery,
Time without history,
The soul of destiny.

Spoken forth the Word was sound:

And mind struck down at it,
And matter fell from it,
And spirit flew from it.

Echoes of the Word remained:

The cord of life was tense
Above the pool of sense
Where ripples faded hence.

The silent word is hidden still:

The serpent's sleeping eye,
The eggshell of the sky,
The truth behind the lie.

Prayers and Prophecies
The Exposed Adytum