The Dancer

You talk to me of time, of

Power, of control, of the art

Of domination, of creating

Worlds in your image and
Mastery over all that is.

You talk thus of godhood, 

Of The Word, of 

Primordial divinity. 

Yet I am older, more

Ancient than time itself.

I have been since before Being,

Possessing nothing and

Wanting nothing more. 

A creation of all that

Is and its creator,

Woven in unity, golden

Braid that spirals together

Eternity and never, 

Nothing and all.

A braid that forms a

Rope that weaves a net

On which reality dances

And I with it, for

Thus I spend my days,

In dance, in song, my

Resonant thrumming through

The web of the infinite.

Aye, you talk of time,

Power, control, possession

Whilst never seeing the

Vastness that is yours

Should you simply permit

Yourself to dance, to 

Dance the jewel-bedecked 

Mesh of Creation.