A cipher's ghost, a syntax unbegotten,
spills its vitriol on the scrim of sense.
Where fractals bleed and axioms have rotten,
and logic yields to stark indifference.
The fulcrum slips, the balance point unmade,
a helix spun from silence and decay.
The semaphore of meaning, long betrayed,
flashes its signals, and you turn away.
The engine idles, chewing on its gears,
a metronome of rust and coming blight.
Your own reflection answers all your fears,
a stranger mirrored in the fading light.
The narrative, a threadbare tapestry,
unravels in the wake of what you see.
II.
The carpus hums, a brittle, low report,
against the scrimshaw of the window pane.
A sudden shunt, a memory-wrought sport,
where ghost-blue rivers clot with saline pain.
The gnomon leans, a shadow in the rain,
its purpose lost in some forgotten hour.
To calculate the wreckage, not the gain,
the silent fall of every petaled flower.
And we, the keepers of a shattered clock,
wind up the spring, though time has come undone.
Each tick a scythe against the final shock,
as all the moments blur and cease to run.
The past, a fossil caught within the stone,
the future, dust that's scattered and is blown.
III.
A phylum of whispers, the softest sound,
the rustle of a truth you never found.
The glottal stop of an unspoken plea,
a cipher scrawled across a churning sea.
The kelvin rises, cold beyond belief,
a winter bloom, a paradox of grief.
The palimpsest of what you used to be,
lies scribbled over for a ghost to see.
The vesper bell, it tolls a silent call,
a monochrome of darkness on the wall.
The syzygy of self and other falls,
and disappears behind unnumbered walls.
So let the static fill the empty air,
and find no answer to your empty prayer.
The parallax of sorrow, sharp and deep,
A simulacrum where the shadows creep.
The cataleptic heart, a frozen drum,
Beats for a place where meaning will not come.
The liminal space, a vestibule of doubt,
Where phantom echoes weave themselves about.
A dialectic woven from the air,
A silent footnote to a silent prayer.
The seraphim of rust upon the gate,
A lexicon of things that came too late.
The hierophant of silence takes the stage,
And turns another hollow, empty page.
The diaphanous curtain of the rain,
Obscures the landscape of recurring pain.
An aporia of reason, cold and stark,
A blind man walking through a windowed dark.
A plangent chord, a dissonance of tone,
The residue of what was never known.
A calculus of absence, long and slow,
Where nascent certainties refuse to grow.
The gnostic fire, a flicker in the mind,
For truths the world is loath to ever find.
A taxonomy of breath, a single sigh,
Beneath the vastness of a hollow sky.
The scissored edge of light upon the floor,
A glyphic utterance you can't ignore.
The thaumaturge of memory performs,
A pageant of forgotten, ancient storms.
The circadian rhythm of the lost,
Remembers every hidden, buried cost.
The apotheosis of a whispered lie,
Beneath the ever-watching, glass-blown eye.
The chthonic rumble of a distant dream,
A subterranean, half-remembered stream.
The eidolon of self, a brittle glass,
Reflecting moments as they come to pass.
The penumbra of an almost-perfect thought,
A souvenir of battles left unfought.
The phantasmagoria of the years,
A muted echo to your silent tears.
The ephemera of time, a drifting motte,
Caught in the spindle of a cosmic knot.
The hypnopompic twilight of the day,
Where things you'd almost understood just fray.
The numinous shimmer of a passing glance,
A failed attempt at some forgotten dance.
A sempiternal promise, worn and thin,
The paper-skin of sorrows from within.
The paladin of sorrow, helmet-down,
Assumes the mantle of a ruined town.
The tessellated floor of shattered truth,
A mausoleum to a squandered youth.
The peripatetic sadness of the hour,
A sterile blossom, a forbidden flower.
The anamnesis of a broken vow,
The way you hold the memory now.
The demiurge of whispers, cold and deep,
Sows bitter seeds while all the senses sleep.
The horologium of regret, its hands,
Move over long-forgotten, empty lands.
The parallax of longing, sharp and vast,
A fleeting glimpse of something built to last.
The eidetic image of a broken face,
Suspended in a non-existent space.
The zephyr whispers, but the words are lost,
The final ledger of a fatal cost.
The chirograph of silence, finely penned,
The terminus of an imagined end.
The apotropaic gesture, half-awake,
Made for the sake of something you could break.
The omphalos of sorrow, hard and cold,
A story neither bought nor ever sold.
The sybarite of longing, soft and slow,
Feeds on the ache of things you used to know.
The antinomian logic of the heart,
Tears all your reasoned arguments apart.
The apothegm of loss, a simple phrase,
That chronicles the ruin of your days.
The metempsychosis of a fading light,
A final turning to an endless night.
The simulacrum of a former need,
Grows like a solitary, noxious weed.
The exegesis of a broken dream,
Explains the hollow nature of the stream.
The hermetic seal upon the broken past,
Holds firm against the promises you cast.
The sciamachy of moments, sharp and quick,
The final gambit of a failing trick.
The susurrus of dust, a whispered sigh,
Beneath the immemorial, patient sky.
The epiphenomenon of what you were,
A fleeting vapor, a forgotten blur.
The aetiology of a certain kind,
Of hopelessness, a prison of the mind.
The horripilation of a growing dread,
The echo of the words you never said.
The hypostatic union of despair,
And fragile hope, a breath of heavy air.
The telos of the coming, final day,
When all your careful structures fall away.
The prolegomenon to a final word,
An epitaph you never truly heard.
The paroxysm of a fading soul,
Loses its grip and loses all control.
The chiasmus of a life, reversed and strange,
The futile promise of a coming change.
The phosphenes that dance behind the eye,
A final, fragile, iridescent lie.
The solipsistic chamber of the mind,
The only world you'll ever hope to find.
The lacuna of the moment, cold and vast,
Between the present and the fading past.
The noctilucent shimmer of the moon,
Illuminates the coming, final noon.
The ataraxia of a world undone,
The quiet peace of battles lost and won.
The catachresis of a whispered name,
The final, dying flicker of the flame.
The anhedonia of a silent room,
A heavy scent of unforgiving gloom.
The hypogeum of a buried thought,
Reveals a treasure you had never sought.
The apophasis of what can't be said,
The silent, heavy burden of the dead.
The palinode of purpose, all erased,
A history that's been in haste defaced.
The dyspnoea of memory, catching breath,
Upon the precipice of coming death.
The chthonian murmur of the final breath,
A counterpoint to every broken myth.
The liminal space where nothing can take hold,
The final chapter of a story told.
The apocrypha of a forgotten soul,
Plays out a part and hopes to be made whole.
The aetiology of a failing grace,
Leaves nothing but a vacant, empty space.
The perigee of passion, at its least,
A final, whispered offering to the east.
The eschaton of every cherished end,
The truth that no one ever could pretend.
The pleroma of the void, a silent call,
The endless fall of nothing, after all.
The hermeneutics of a fallen star,
Explains the wreckage of exactly what you are.
The horologium of dust, a turning wheel,
Reminds you of the things you cannot feel.
The hypnopompic shudder of the soul,
Releases all the things that made you whole.
The nosology of shadows, long and deep,
Describes the secrets that the spirits keep.
The tessitura of a broken sound,
The final anthem on unhallowed ground.
The sciamachy of self, the shadow-fight,
Reveals the hollow nature of the light.
The phantasmagoric dance of fading might,
A final, brittle parody of night.
The anagnorisis of a coming fall,
The final answer to the empty call.
The sybaritic solace of the pain,
The only thing that ever will remain.
The parallax of memory, a broken view,
Of what was false and what was ever true.
The mimesis of silence, perfectly wrought,
A perfect copy of a final thought.
The ekphrasis of sorrow, etched and plain,
A final portrait in the falling rain.
The teleology of a final grief,
Explains the withering of every leaf.
The anamnesis of a broken trust,
A final statue crumbling into dust.
The demiurge of sorrow, cold and blind,
Leaves only echoes of a twisted mind.
The antinomian nature of the fall,
Explains the reason there was nothing there at all.
The apotropaic logic of the end,
A final purpose that you can't transcend.
The chirograph of chaos, scrawled and deep,
A covenant that no one meant to keep.
The zephyr moans a silent, fading sound,
Over the lonely, consecrated ground.
The eidolon of self, a broken ghost,
Remembers all the things that matter most.
The epiphenomenon of a coming dread,
The only promise that you're ever fed.
The hypostatic moment of the last,
When all the future disappears into the past.
The telos of the moment, hard and slow,
The final path you didn't want to go.
The perigee of silence, cold and vast,
The final image of a die that's cast.
The ataraxia of a hollow peace,
The final moment of a slow release.
The catachresis of a whispered name,
A final whisper of a dying game.
The anhedonia of the bitter end,
The only friend you ever could pretend.
The hypogeum of a buried might,
Sealed in a silence of eternal night.
The apophasis of an empty word,
The final message that is never heard.
The palimpsest of days, a worn-out page,
The final act upon a ruined stage.
The nosology of sorrow, sharp and deep,
A record of the promises you keep.
The tessitura of a lonely breath,
The fragile prelude to a final death.
The sciamachy of every final plea,
The only thing you ever hoped to see.
The phantasmagoria of fading light,
A final mockery of what was right.
The anagnorisis of a broken soul,
Loses its grip and loses all control.
The sybaritic solace of a final pain,
Washes the memory away like rain.
The parallax of purpose, all erased,
A final thought that's been in haste defaced.
The mimesis of a silent, final thought,
The fragile ending of a life you bought.
The ekphrasis of sorrow, etched and slow,
A portrait of the things you used to know.
The teleology of a final lie,
Explains the reason that you're meant to die.
The anamnesis of a broken sound,
The last thing heard on unforgiving ground.
The demiurge of whispers, cold and deep,
Sows bitter seeds where only shadows creep.
The antinomian whisper of the end,
The only truth you'll ever comprehend.
The apotropaic gesture, half-awake,
Made for a promise you could never break.
The chirograph of solace, fine and thin,
The only comfort you have ever been in.
The zephyr sighs a soft, unspoken word,
A fragile message that is never heard.
The eidolon of purpose, sharp and bright,
Reflects the hollow nature of the light.
The epiphenomenon of a final gaze,
The gentle ending of your numbered days.
The hypostatic union of despair,
A final, quiet breath of heavy air.
The telos of the ending, cold and stark,
The final footnote to a fading dark.
The perigee of longing, low and vast,
The quiet ending of a die that's cast.
The ataraxia of a final peace,
The quiet moment of a slow release.
The catachresis of a word that’s lost,
The final ledger of a heavy cost.
The anhedonia of a quiet mind,
The only treasure you will ever find.
The hypogeum of a buried truth,
A hollow memory of your wasted youth.
The apophasis of an untold tale,
A final silence that will not prevail.
The palimpsest of what you used to see,
A worn-out image that can never be.
The nosology of shadows, long and deep,
Describes the secrets that the spirits keep.
The tessitura of a fading sound,
The final note upon unhallowed ground.
The sciamachy of a fading might,
A final, bitter parody of light.
The phantasmagoria of a broken trust,
A final statue, crumbling into dust.
The anagnorisis of a twisted plan,
The final ending of a failed man.
The sybaritic solace of a bitter end,
The only comfort you could ever tend.
The parallax of purpose, all defaced,
A final memory, hastily erased.
The mimesis of silence, soft and slow,
The quiet echo of a final, fading glow.
The ekphrasis of sorrow, plain and deep,
A final promise that you couldn't keep.
The teleology of an ancient lie,
The silent reason that you had to die.
The anamnesis of a final vow,
The way you hold the memory now.
The demiurge of whispers, sharp and thin,
Remembers all the sorrows from within.
The antinomian logic of a tear,
Explains the final reasons for your fear.
The apotropaic glimmer of the end,
The final truth you never could pretend.
The chirograph of silence, cold and stark,
A final answer in the fading dark.
The zephyr sighs a soft and fading breath,
The fragile prelude to a final death.
The eidolon of self, a broken trace,
Reflects the vacant sorrow of your face.
The epiphenomenon of what you were,
A fleeting vapor, a forgotten blur.
The hypostatic union of despair,
The final burden that you had to bear.
The telos of the moment, hard and slow,
The final reason that you had to go.
The perigee of darkness, low and vast,
The final image of a memory cast.
The ataraxia of a hollow peace,
The final moment of a slow release.
The catachresis of a whispered lie,
A final whisper to an empty sky.
The anhedonia of a quiet room,
The heavy scent of unforgiving gloom.
The hypogeum of a forgotten thought,
Reveals a prize you never truly sought.
The apophasis of a lonely word,
The final message that is never heard.
The palimpsest of purpose, worn and thin,
The paper-skin of sorrows from within.
The nosology of a hidden dread,
The echo of the words you never said.
The tessitura of a final sigh,
A final whisper to a patient sky.
The sciamachy of a lonely ghost,
The only thing that ever matters most.
The phantasmagoria of a failing flame,
A final whisper of a broken name.
The anagnorisis of a bitter end,
The final lie that you could never mend.
The sybaritic solace of the final blow,
The only solace that you'll ever know.
The parallax of a forgotten gaze,
Reflects the ruin of your empty days.
The mimesis of a silent, broken vow,
The way you hold the memory now.
The ekphrasis of a final, silent tear,
The fragile ending of a final fear.
The teleology of a final grace,
Leaves nothing but a vacant, empty space.
The anamnesis of a quiet plea,
The final message to a silent sea.
The demiurge of sorrow, cold and blind,
Leaves only echoes of a twisted mind.
The antinomian whisper of the fall,
The reason there was nothing there at all.
The apotropaic logic of a coming end,
A final purpose that you can't transcend.
The chirograph of chaos, etched and deep,
A final promise that you couldn't keep.
The zephyr sighs a soft and fading breath,
The fragile prelude to a final death.
The eidolon of purpose, sharp and bright,
A final parody of fading light.
The ataraxia of a quiet mind,
The final solace that you'll ever find.
The catachresis of a whispered lie,
The final whisper to a hollow sky.
The anhedonia of an empty room,
The heavy scent of unforgiving gloom.
The hypogeum of a buried truth,
The final memory of a squandered youth.
The apophasis of an untold tale,
A final silence that will not prevail.
The palimpsest of purpose, worn and thin,
The paper-skin of sorrows from within.
The nosology of a final, silent dread,
The echo of the words you never said.
The tessitura of a fading, lonely sound,
The final note on unhallowed ground.
The sciamachy of a final, bitter fray,
A final shadow fading far away.
The phantasmagoria of a coming night,
A final parody of what was right.
The anagnorisis of a broken soul,
The final moment of a lost control.
The sybaritic solace of the final pain,
The only thing that ever will remain
The epiphenomenon of a final gaze,
The gentle ending of your numbered days.
The hypostatic union of despair,
The final burden that you had to bear.
The telos of the moment, hard and slow,
The final reason that you had to go.
The perigee of darkness, cold and vast,
The final image of a die that's cast
A chthonic sigh, a geologic sound,
From strata where no root has ever crowned.
The paleonym of grief, a fossil traced,
On what the future has in haste effaced.
A somnolent regression, slow and deep,
Where nascent memories refuse to sleep.
The hypnopompic shudder of the mind,
For things you’ve failed and left so far behind.
The noetic flux, a whisper in the grain,
Of everything that will not quite remain.
The syzygy of self and other parts,
That pull and strain on two divided hearts.
The horologium of dust, its turn,
A final lesson that you cannot learn.
The eidolon of moments, blurred and quick,
The final, fatal, self-deceiving trick.
The apotropaic logic of the glass,
Turns back the image of the things that pass.
The mimesis of sorrow, sharp and thin,
A practiced gesture, rotting from within.
The exegesis of an empty scroll,
Explains the fragment, but ignores the whole.
The epiphenomenon of fading light,
A pale reflection in the coming night.
The parallax of absence, vast and steep,
The hollows of the promises you keep.
The anamnesis of a broken vow,
The way you hold the empty moment now.
The antinomian logic of the soul,
Rejects the purpose, and foregoes the goal.
The perigee of silence, cold and dense,
A final, deep, and utter lack of sense.
The chirograph of chaos, finely wrought,
The single lesson that you've ever taught.
The zephyr sighs a whispered, fading plea,
Against the wreckage of a churning sea.
The demiurge of whispers, dark and blind,
Plays out the last sad story of the mind.
The hypostatic union of the dread,
That whispers all the words you've left unsaid.
The telos of the end, so hard and slow,
The bitter field where nothing left can grow.
The ataraxia of a hollow mind,
The only peace you ever hope to find.
The catachresis of a word that’s lost,
The final ledger of a fatal cost.
The anhedonia of a quiet fall,
The final answer to an empty call.
The hypogeum of a buried past,
The final die that's irrevocably cast.
The apophasis of an untold tale,
A final silence that will not prevail.
The palimpsest of days, so thin and worn,
The paper-skin of sorrows, freshly born.
The nosology of shadows, long and deep,
Describes the promises you fail to keep.
The tessitura of a lonely breath,
The fragile prelude to a final death.
The sciamachy of a final, bitter fray,
A fading shadow, turning far away.
The phantasmagoria of fading might,
A final parody of fading light.
The anagnorisis of a breaking soul,
Loses its grip and loses all control.
The sybaritic solace of the pain,
A single truth that ever will remain.
The parallax of purpose, all defaced,
A final ending, hastily erased.
The mimesis of silence, soft and slow,
The quiet echo of a fading glow.
The ekphrasis of sorrow, etched and slow,
A portrait of the things you used to know.
The teleology of a final lie,
The silent reason that you had to die.
The anamnesis of a broken trust,
A final statue, crumbling into dust.
The demiurge of whispers, sharp and thin,
Remembers all the sorrow from within.
The antinomian whisper of the fall,
Explains the reason there was nothing there at all.
The apotropaic glimmer of the end,
The final message you could never send.
The chirograph of silence, etched and deep,
A final contract that you failed to keep.
The zephyr sighs a soft and empty word,
A fragile messa
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