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Rated: E · Draft · Fantasy · #2185969
Excerpt from The Mialchronai
_____{Chapter 1.0}______
[The Event Universe in Verse]

What is it to speak?
What do a series of words mean devoid of definition?
What is in the actions we make with the sounds we display?
That is the fundamental question.

Is silence bleak?
Do the words we speak merely imitate the supposition,
that there's a loneliness in being surrounded by nothing:
a loneliness so utterly bound in tension.

I like to think that such a case is far from truthful,
and that silence is naught of the sort to be so sadly woeful.
I like to think that silence is the voice of something lacking,
and that if you listen for but a moment you can hear it sing a melody.

O', a melody! A melody so loud yet softly tending to the ears.
I can hear my heartbeat soar as it bellows its brilliant music, sending me to tears.
Do not mistake this sound- this sound of utter awesomeness- for that of some tomfoolery,
akin to that of an untempered child banging pots and pans with cutlery.
Nay, this is music: music of the cosmos. Not an art nor a science but music so pure in design,
it could not possibly be anything but divine.
'Tis magical, it is: this sweet, sweet melody-
the very antithesis to a cosmological cacophony.

For it moves in waves through time and space and back again,
forever swirling like a universal cyclone of sound, increasing in intensity,
propelling in rapidity:
a vibratory symphony of heavenly artistry:
a melodious divinity.
So gently loud yet silent.
The beauty heard in every moment.
'O, 'tis it not the case that you can hear it? O', that sweet melody? So loud yet softly tending to the ears?
Can you not feel your heartbeat soar as it bellows, hear it pound within the chasm of your chest?
You shan't detest the natural divinity,
the sheer, awe-inspiring beauty,
of the melody of Silenor.

Hark, my fellow kind for that beauty has a name, the melody of silence calls it crystal clear,
that its name is Silenor who speaks through time and space the makings of the universe!

What is it to be?
What is it to exist?
Why do we insist on having faith in what we see?
Why do we persist?

How much is an eternity?
What value is forever?
Is there more to an eternity than to match it in longevity?

What do we know of, in what lay beyond the edge of time and space?
What is it that the stars attempt to chase?
O', my young kin, I can tell you that it's to be the case,
that even Silenor doesn't know why they race.
For Silenor is not a keeper of all things.
He only knows that which, to him, his presence brings;
and for all the power in all of time and space he has,
he owns none of it all- for it belongs to the Volinar.

Ah, the Volinar. I submit to you a declaration of the profound importance of the Volinar.
I submit to you that you need understand the energy that overshadows every single star.
Enter the heart of all existence and beyond my friend and bask in splendiferous awe, amidst an otherworldy feeling, for therein lays divinity pure and endless.
O', bask in a light imbued with the presence of creation-
a presence- yes, a presence: that which strikes you to your core and keeps you grounded at your station.
That music of which echoes throughout the halls of the cosmos comes from here,
and it has no single sound but rather a feeling that is to be a pleasure to your ear.
It's very essence at its most intense, flows along the threads of a light,
that flares in soft waves of silver- bright-
which dangles all around,
the energy of sound:

The Creation Flame of Saistys: fusing with a faint harmonic hum, and loosely tangled with a shallow breath's range apart, against a light of colours- of which redefine the very meaning of what is to see.
A steady stream that flows like a liquid sun of a rainbow undefineable- a brightness no dark can swallow.
And yet it's very sight is soothing music to the ears,
a brightness whose glare, of which, does not pierce the eyes like spears,
but rather widens them to a woken-ness that washes away all thoughts and fears,
like a calming deep blue sea,
so serenely still in quality,
that it would seem to be,
a paradoxically,
static liquid body-
so solid in its nature that it would seem as if one could walk upon its surface,
from one end to another and no sight at all would be left behind of their journey; no, not a single trace.
The energy of light:
Dyrini- fused with Saistys and humming in the bright.

Though, what is music without dance?
What is a star without its twinkling trance?
What gives a thing its energy?
An energy to move, and speak, and laugh, and talk, and sing.
An energy that when sapped creates a definitively poignant sting,
of lethargy.

I bid you to ask not of where it comes from, but rather of what it's made.
Is it a craft of just one simple thing or more well-likened to that of a serenade,
in that its design is of a myriad of countless words and notes of tune,
that come together in a union of soundless feeling through which it does, your heart, consume?

I bid you to remember, if you can and if you will,
what it means to dance.
I bid you to recall that it isn't at all about your actions,
but rather 'tis about your passions.
To dance - to truly dance- is to reveal yourself in all your being,
and that it does not have to be a thing that is done through something like a fancy prance.
Nay, for is it not the case that a guitarist's fingers dance across the strings before them?
Or that an artist's stroke dashes in many movements of intense devotion and emotions?
I protest, against the notion that a dance is purely movement for can you not recall that energy
that drives you far from lethargy?
Can you not recall that energy of which drives you forth in time to move, and speak, and laugh, and talk, and sing, and be?
And just be?
Just simply be? Can you not see,
that it is life that gives us energy?
That it is life that drives your movements?
The energy of life: Luryn- that which lays within your every breath,
and which guides the rise and fall of the beating of your heart.

The Creation Flame of Luryn embedded in a liquid mist that dances through the air,
touching neither here nor there,
but rather smothering every part,
just as it does to the rise and fall of that beating of your heart.
Yet no matter where one looks it ceases to be truly seen unto one’s gaze falls upon the Volinar,
for the energy of Luryn is most true where it is most pure,
and what facet of it could be ever truer,
than where from, all things in life, are made?
There it exists as liquid mist dancing through the air,
as it does everywhere,
touching neither here nor there,
but rather smothering every part,
of the Volinar.
It mimics that which it covers- flowing like liquid sun and dangling in strings of silver- bright-
shadowing that which overshadows every single star in light so crystal bright.

Saistys, Dyrini, and Luryn flow from one place,
at the centre of all time and space,
from which the stars run out to chase,
the whom of which no one knows the case-
at the centre of the seat of the void:
the heart of all existence; surrounded by the palace of the great cosmologicals led by Silenor:
the fabled forever fortress of Alenor.
They flow from a fountain at the very epicentre of that place,
at the heart of all creation- of all of time and space.
The fountain of the Volinar,
wherein the energy of mass and matter: Mytus,
fills a pool like liquid light,
and moves with Luryn in delight,
singing with the energy of Saistys to hum in the bright of the liquid sun of Dyrini,
which allows us all to see,
its unbridled divinity.
Not one can exist without all others,
for they are the flames of creation-
united as a nation,
akin to sisters and their brothers,
to their fathers and their mothers.

This colossal fountain is like no other for even as its liquid rises at its centre in a geyser of unreal power,
the mist it sprays outward into the world around hangs in the air and rises upwards like a mirror,
of the fountain itself and together they climb, ever-growing and slowly turning to strings of light embedded with creation,
and as they raise themselves higher they spread across the space around them.
They weave together and form a slow wave of strings which as they near the highest heights of the very cosmos itself, they come together again to be united once more as a nation,
touching the heights of creation,
and when they do they flow back down in threads of slowly falling light,
to lay once more in the fountain of the Volinar- to move with Luryn in delight,
to sing with Saistys so as to hum in the bright of the liquid sun of Dyrini,
that fuels the sight of the liquid light of Mytus.
The fountain of the Volinar: that which resides at the epicentre of the mind-numbing, heart-rending, tear-jerking awe,
that is the home of Silenor.

The home of Silenor,
surrounding the Fountain of the Volinar: Alenor,
made from crystal pure and raw,
in a beauty unmatched by any other,
whose very reflections pierce the heavens with the essence of Dyrini,
spraying soft and gentle rays of light in rainbows undefinable,
whose every moment of being seems to shine in a way all so impossible.
© Copyright 2019 Silas Godric Krausen (sgkrausen at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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