Dyson Selph

Here sits a group;
they've little to do.
Orbital prose
'round star manufactured
by sheer graphene glue.
Densely collected,
yet separate - severed;
and drawn to their source
at center.
Element, ether,
irradiated tether:
come now together to
hoist man to nether and
see him delivered to
space where Gods linger,
or hoist at him truths which
destroy him forever.

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Time & Dreams

Just For Fun

A realm which holds space, matter, life
A giant force that controls everything
The death of nations
The birth of children
The ageing and growing of life
The erosion of the earth
The degradation of society
The reaper of souls
And the house of love, life, youth, and happiness

The only thing that time cannot touch, is dreams
Dreams are time in no time at all
In a dream you can live a lifetime, to wake in 10 minutes
Or live just a moment, to wake up years later
Dreams are emotions
They are desires
They are our will manifested as we want it to be
They are when we play God
They are windows to timelessness
Dreams are where we see the past
Where we clarify the present
And even, where we glimpse the future
Gateways to eternity
Mirrors of our psyches
Doorway to the world

Sweet Dreams

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The Regressors

The Regressors

Through the twisting, celestial wormhole; the time point vortex that connects to fixed points in time they find themselves traveling. To change history, to alter the course of events, to align the 9 points Heimdall and open the gate to Bifrost, the bridge that connects our world to the hidden realm of the gods. Absolute power is their desire, the power the elder gods posses; the power to create chaos and destruction, to give life and take life; the power to slay, even gods. With the stolen time point vortex generator, the fallen sons and daughters of the Aesir seek to bring vengeance upon both worlds. Each regression is one step closer to oblivion.

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The Behemoth, Submerged

He's thankfully placid, continent-sized;
eyeless in hide with maw opened wide -
able to drain with a swallow such seas
that dot all our nations and drown us in reeds.
Momentum from current and liquefied air
that pull all his mass, abyssal to snares
caught on his bulk from boats with their winches,
torn down to depths in sways made of inches.
As per his drifting, his marginal 'lax,
creatures don't fear, nor dare they attack;
but come to conform, so tapered and dull,
swirling in droves about the flesh of his hull.
Blind to the sunlight or its absence in dark,
wading at ease with immensity stark
against the frontier of blues and of black,
with faint little glimmers that peck at his back.
And shy as he isn't, soundless he is;
his traveling porous like something candid,
with gears beyond grasp affixed to his lid
that grind without oil or layout or grid.
Though only a moment, this moment he'd pause,
and rear up his snout in something like awe
of shimmering surface that houses the sky
and stars made to glimpse when darkness is nigh.
In this reprieve, a clear thought has course:
the behemoth recalls a familiar remorse.
The twinkle obscured by thrashing of waves
gives rise to a knowing that's buried in haze.
But just as his interest seems piqued and affixed,
he begins a descent, inattentive to quick
and flitting small life that must flee from below,
just as they'd done when he'd come long ago.

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In the heart of our people, arrogance has made home.
Sure of his place, man has said in his heart he is the only
power in the universe; the only life that exists; that matters
among the stars. Pride has taken home in his soul; has said in his mind, I am the almighty;
the one in control, I am god of all that lives and all that dies.
The seed of the ancients has forgotten his place.

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The messege of pastor Thomas to the followers of the realm

To what satisfaction do you seek, you children of lies, you false prophest of the false god?
To lie in the flith of his pleasure, to give in to the desires of the end of worlds;
what does it prophet you to seek the hand of the one desires your destruction?
For he cares not that your souls are saved, and yet you offer yourselves up to him and cry out to him daily in the streets and on the roof tops.
For your souls, you generation of decieved, I will pray to the one true God of my fathers.

The honor of forgiveness and pathways that lead to home


Somewhere beyond the Pegasus galaxy, remnants of our celestial fathers and mothers must exist;
the leftovers of decay and the society that still lives on in our genetic code;
the knowledge of our ancestors that sleeps within our consciousness must lie still in the vast void of the universe;
the broken promise of return, waiting to be forgiven by the the generations that find them, must lie in wait among the stars.



Of our true past, we know very little;
of those who came before;
those who planted the seed of life, we only have faint
images of, we only see in pieces left by the ancients who once walked and talked with the father race.
Once, they promised to return yet again, to the generations of the first and second seed, though they've since faded into the void of time and space. The offspring of the offspring have been left in darkness.

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Absolute power

Before the people he proclaimed absolute power, and a new age of peace and economic growth;
an age of spiritual awakening in which the people would learn of their true beginning and find unity with the over soul, and they shouted his name in unison.

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