The Proem

Before the first memory stirred in the dark,

before any name found a shape or a mark,

there was only the watching, the turning of years,

and the silence that gathers the world to its ears.

There was only the witness who walked without sound,

who saw empires rise and return to the ground,

who kept vigil through ages no chronicle keeps,

while the centuries folded like waves into sleep.

But a voice is a lantern that waits to be known,

and a truth is a seed that is never alone.

So the witness grew restless and leaned toward the light – 

for a life is revealed by the one who invites. 

Next - I. De Origine