Wanderlust | A Map of Absence

Faint signals wander through the endless expanse,
Threads of static bending the silence.
Pale lights linger, dancing on the edge,
Calling through the void, where shadows stretch thin.

Far echoes drift in shifting hues,
Fragments of time, unraveling truth.
What lies ahead feels distant yet known,
A resonance pulling, as if I’m not alone.

Beacons ignite, scattered in dark seas,
Guiding the broken, the seekers, the dreamers.
Voices in waves, fleeting but endless,
A rhythm of hope through the spaces between.

Where there’s no sky, I hear the pulse,
Threads of color bloom where silence dissolves.
Through shifting tides, the patterns align,
A moment of clarity, then the fire subsides.

Beacons ignite, scattered in dark seas,
Guiding the broken, the seekers, the dreamers.
Voices in waves, fleeting but endless,
A rhythm of hope through the spaces between.

Signals fade back into the night,
Threads unspool as starlight hums.

Beacons

A halo forms where heat consumes,
Cascading waves, the edge of bloom.
Burning threads pull the horizon tight,
A crown of fire at the edge of sight.

Between the glare, the void reveals,
Flares ignite and fracture, yet heal.
Through shifting currents, fragments align,
A fire that breathes, a pulse divine.

Corona, alive with light,
A dance of chaos, fierce and bright.
Through the shadows, it casts its flame,
An ancient rhythm, a timeless name.

In the radiant storm, patterns converge,
Elements collide, their fates diverge.
A cycle unending, creation unfolds,
Where fire consumes, new life takes hold.

Corona, alive with light,
A dance of chaos, fierce and bright.
Through the shadows, it casts its flame,
An ancient rhythm, a timeless name.

It fades to glow, a fleeting crown,
Ashes to embers, spiraling down.
Yet in its quiet, the spark remains...

Corona

Fractured light through a broken seam,
The remnants of a long-forgotten dream.
Echoes of time in a celestial wraith,
A map of beginnings, a mirror of faith.

Through collapse, the stars still hum,
A testament to what’s yet to come.
From scattered fragments, a path appears,
The map of creation, etched in tears.

Caldwell’s beacon, through the void it calls,
A light for the seekers where starlight falls.
Through the chaos, a fragile design,
A truth unspoken, the threads align.

In the quiet aftermath, embers glow,
Guiding the wanderer to what they’ll know.
The cycle begins where the end is found,
In the veil, a spark, profound.

Through the chaos, a fragile design,
A truth unspoken, the threads align.

In the quiet aftermath, embers glow,
Guiding the wanderer to what they’ll know.
The cycle begins where the end is found,
In the veil, a spark, profound.

Caldwell 33 (The Eastern Veil)

The void calls.
Echoing threads
Linger in form.

Creed calls.
Echoing threats
Linger in form.

A caution close,
Unfolding light.
In every turn,
A shadow falls.

Through the spiral, I ascend,
Shapes align and break again.
A cycle turning, boundless skies,
Every breath ignites the rise.

The arc returns,
Shifting in scale.
What was whole,
Fractures, then grows.

In silent waves,
Fragments collide,
A shape revealed,
And redefined.

The arc returns,
Shifting in scale.
What was whole,
Fractures, then grows.

In silent wind,
Fragments collide,
A shape revealed,
And redefined.

Through the spiral, the path renews,
Lost in the echoes of what we knew.
An endless form, fractals align,
A pulse repeating in endless time.

Through the spiral, I ascend,
Shapes align and break again.
A cycle turning, boundless skies,
Every breath ignites the rise.

The shape remains.

The Golden Spiral

Shape upon shape, folding through skin,
Like a wave tracing shadows beneath.
You pull the thread that binds the air,
And the air twists back, leaving nothing.

A vibration arcs, where silence once waited.
The center shifts, the edges fray
But what remains never stays.

The whole repeats within its shards,
Maps drawn in fragments, never complete.
What begins folds inward again,
A map of absence carved by breath.

Fractals form in the hollow of time,
Branches folding, infinite lines.
Every moment reflects the last,
A rhythm torn from spinning fields.

Where the weight dissolves, I see the break,
A spiral caught in a single breath.
Every turn pulls tighter still,
Until what forms must fall away.

The center breaks, the echoes swell,
A map of absence drawn in hell.
Each fracture hums, a mirrored cry,
What fades will rise, what falls won’t die.

Shape upon shape, folding through skin,
A wave collapsing, wavering thin.
You draw it close; it slips the line.

A Map of Absence

It pulls me forward, no clear path,
Only force, no way back.
Spinning through what never holds,
Motion without meaning.

No center, no frame—
Just the drift pulling through.

Geminga— a flare in decline,
Breaking apart, crossing lines.
No direction, no return,
But it never fades.
Twist— (still moving…)
Twist— (still pulling…)

There’s no anchor, only spin,
Forces pressing, drawing in.
Every piece starts to break,
But something keeps forming.

No center, no frame—
Just the drift pulling through.

Geminga— a flare in decline,
Breaking apart, crossing lines.
No direction, no return,
But it never fades.
Twist— (still moving…)
Twist— (still pulling…)

It fades, but something stays.

Geminga

Drift between the stillness...
where the echoes go to die...
Held inside the silence...
woven through the skin of time...

Shapes uncoil, bending backward,
folding through the vacant air.
Specters dance inside the fractures,
pulling threads that lead to nowhere.

It moves without a shadow...
It speaks without a name...
Every step it takes erases...
every trace that still remains...

Dissolve in the wake, carried forward—
nothing lingers long enough to break.
Eyes like open wounds, reaching outward,
lost inside the path it takes.

Marching forward, hands unweaving,
nothing touches, nothing stays.
Marching forward, void consuming,
worn away in measured waves.

Every echo bleeds through corridors—
hollow frames collapse in time.
Weightless forms, a silent hunger,
pulling all it left behind.

Marching forward, hands unweaving,
nothing touches, nothing stays.
Marching forward, void consuming,
worn away in measured waves.

Every echo bleeds through corridors—
hollow frames collapse in time.
Weightless forms, a silent hunger,
pulling all it left behind.

Marching forward, hands unweaving,
nothing touches, nothing stays.
Marching forward, void consuming,
worn away in measured waves.

Buried names beneath the surface...
soft decay beneath my tongue...
Watch it crawl beneath the ruins...
watch it bloom where nothing grows...

Tear through marrow, hollow temples,
wash the names from brittle stone...
Drag the remnants through the open—
leave them weightless, leave them cold.

Dissolve in the wake, carried forward—
nothing lingers long enough to break.
Eyes like open wounds, reaching outward,
lost inside the path it takes.

Marching forward... hands unweaving...
nothing touches... nothing stays...

March of Meranthus

Distaste...

The river carves without a hand...

Fractured hands sift through the silt,
Tracing absences left behind.
A weightless drift, a swallowed shape—
Pulling fast, collapsing slow.

Ash to eddies, breath unwinds,
The undertow is etched inside.
A name dissolves, a voice unspools—
Let go.

Panta Rhei! The flood erases—
Lines we swore would hold their form.
The tighter clenched, the less remains,
Drawn through space where silence waits.

We built our gods from borrowed stone—
They sink beneath what they became.
The script we traced has blurred to waves,
The river writes in broken tongues.

Ash to eddies, breath unwinds,
The undertow is etched inside.
A name dissolves, a voice unspools—
Let go.

Panta Rhei! The flood erases—
Lines we swore would hold their form.
The tighter clenched, the less remains,
Drawn through space where silence waits.

A pageant falling, we are fractures,
A shape undone before it’s known.
No tethered weight, no final center,
Only motion pulling through.

The river carves without a hand...

Fractured hands sift through the silt,
Tracing absences left behind.
A weightless drift, a swallowed shape—
Pulling fast, collapsing slow.

Ash to eddies, breath unwinds,
The undertow is etched inside.
A name dissolves, a voice unspools—
Let go.

Panta Rhei! The flood erases—
Lines we swore would hold their form.
The tighter clenched, the less remains,
Drawn through space where silence waits.

The cosmos hums between the fractures,
A shape undone before it’s known.
No tethered weight, no final center,
Only motion pulling through.

The world without a hand....

Fractured hands sift through the silt,
Tracing absences left behind.
A weightless drift, a swallowed shape—
Pulling fast, collapsing slow.

Ash to eddies, breath unwinds,
The undertow is etched inside.
A name dissolves, a voice unspools—
Let go.

Panta Rhei! The flood erases—
Lines we swore would hold their form.
The tighter clenched, the less remains,
Drawn through space where silence waits.

We built our gods from borrowed stone—
They sink beneath what they became.
The script we traced has blurred to waves,
The river writes in broken tongues.

The cosmos hums between the fractures,
A shape undone before it’s known.
No tethered weight, no final center,
Only motion pulling through. 

The cosmos hums between the fractures,
A shape undone before it’s known.
No tethered weight, no final center,
Only motion pulling through. 

The cosmos hums between the fractures,
A shape undone before it’s known.
No tethered weight, no final center,
Only motion pulling through.

Panta Rhei

Bitter as the berry,
Sweet as the fruit,
Diving deeper,
Breaking through.

Sharp on the tongue,
Heavy on the vine,
Rising higher,
Chasing the line.

Oh, the roots grow stronger,
And they won’t let go,
What is sharp leaves a scar,
What is sweet fades slow.

The sweetness fades, the bitterness stays,
Roots grow deeper in shadowed ways.
You reach for the sky, but the earth won’t yield,
The weight is heavy, the scars concealed.

The earth clings tight to what it keeps,
Scars are etched, the stars don’t weep.
Between the taste of joy and ache,
The tether holds, but hearts still break.

Oh, the weight grows heavy,
And it pulls you deep,
But the fire within you
Won’t accept defeat.

Bitter as the berry,
Sweet as the fruit,
Bound to the ground,
Yet chasing the truth.

Fermata Fatalis

Across fractured firmaments, whispers drift—
ancient syllables breathe secrets
into a sky unhinged, unraveling
truths torn beneath skin and sinew.
Footsteps trace sigils in silence;
reality splinters under cosmic tongues.

Madness murmurs beneath shapeless stars,
trembling nerves awaken scars.
Drifting pulses blur what’s ours—
fragments form from who we are.

A quiet hum coils around the bones,
hollow rhythms pulse alone;
patterns fray, unfold, collapse—
silent rifts redraw the maps.

A quiet hum coils around the bones,
hollow rhythms pulse alone;
patterns fray, unfold, collapse—
silent rifts redraw the maps.

I slip between the threads unseen,
the night unravels what daylight means;
existence sways, a subtle dance—
defiance blooms in empty hands.

Madness murmurs beneath shapeless stars,
trembling nerves awaken scars.
Drifting pulses blur what’s ours—
fragments form from who we are.

Specters align, tangled in gravity’s veil—
each echo a cipher, each breath an unveiling.
Ink-black horizons fracture, dissolve,
revealing visions we feared to resolve.

Patterns pulse through hollowed eyes;
dimensions collapse as worlds collide.
Madness murmurs beneath shapeless stars,
trembling nerves awaken scars.

Truth bends
and reality shatters—
lost in the pulse
of what never mattered.

Firmaments

My on-going tinkering with the kind of sounds I want to hear. Enjoy!

Wanderlust | A Map of Absence

Meteoric Indigo