Outcast, waste men

Ever unravelling twine

Splitting as vines, those tendrils that reach...

Brought at end before the all-crafter

Its likeness yet a wordless thought

A final quandary...

What malice sent us on cruel currents

To be eremite among the stars?

And our far-fathers, like us in stance

Yet entombed in depths of dirt?

"Many are beneath you, many more ascend

Not in error, each an eyeblink in our everbeing"

"You have innerseeing of the fore, yet not the after

Accepting your ordained and steadfast deterioration

Yet darkened the site of unmaking."

Ever stabbing at nihil

Lithe and piercing our shape

Opposite that the molder's

Its thin mask of contempt, unconcealing nithe

"Outsight, insight, curses alike

I placed you in a house of spite

To forever seek, yet drift from truth in seeking"

Grasping the "fathers" awl

Which once belit our hollow amidst the dark

Two punctures I make, to undo their gift