Apeiron! Primordial fabric! From which newborn atoms all fearfully flee And so drawn to the blade that severs horizons Cosmic dagger that knows no sleep Emanating from the source of unbearable pain Vibrations ascend, pentatonic, with shape Congealing in crystalline echoes of chaos That whisper the origins of divinity's reign Enveloped in the dust of creation And cloaked in nocturnal The first, the five The few, the eternal The ensuing storm Perpetuating genesis Texturing the air With the chromaticism of untamed forms Therein lies the pool Where dissonance births the murk A lone vapor rises A willing breath of the earth Enveloped in the dust of creation But bathed in diurnal The children, the twelve The many, the immortal