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

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