Ayar stands with void abound,
Sees no sky and sees no ground.
To the void He thrusts His hands,
Forms the heavens, forms the lands.
Still.
Ayar forms the Kings and Queens,
Gives Them rule o'er His machines.
Splits His will to His design,
From His will come the Divine.
Reign.
Stagnation fills our Lord with woe,
He forms a force to force the flow.
The Chaos breathes into the planes,
Lifesblood of creation's veins.
Growth.
Races fill the lands and skies,
Forests, oceans, mountains rise.
Cities grow and cities fail,
Consciousness and soul prevails.
Life.
While mortals live, year after year,
Oblivion grows ever near.
A God is formed, with Him a plan,
To stall the Chaos from this land.
Babel.
But sometime, near or far away,
The Chaos comes and ends the day.
And no thing will endure the fray,
No joy, no hate, and no dismay.
Void.
When only Ayar can remain,
Will He resing His sweet refrain?
Or will He tire of our calls,
And form us all as lifeless dolls?
Still.

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Phaestian, in the year 535 AF.