conservatum in memoriā

poetry

upon the cusp of morning
lies my awakening
my time of revelation
my time to light the torch
to guide, to lead myself through my time
my scale has no differing weights
the lodestone knows no black nor white
only what is before it
through the brightening storms and icy breaths
I do not wade, but open my eyes
to see not water, not lies
but truth, the timeless battle
there is no water
that is more pure than fire
that is less pure than fire
no darkness is devoid of light

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