Like a loud silence
the perfect singularity of the origo
casts a shadow that burns so vibrant
that it enthralls the eye
and in convergence with it, attempting to depict it,
words form an equally perfect nominal chaos.
As if the origo's ripples mess with meaning
and all entropy was because, and of, this shadow.
But the origo itself appears accordingly as void
as it shines a static light.
As motion its ripples appear
as if their source opens by closing,
curls by unwinding,
and nothing is as mesmerizing as this motion.
It is just that seeing it is heavy on the eyes and mind
as it is tiring for the heart to feel it,
and instinct stampeeds away from its presence.
Yet within it, we are of it,
outside only the blank void,
faced with which the senses
themsleves start to flicker.
It can be said that an eye always sees it,
an ear always hears it,
the skin always feels it...
Anything that reacts, reacts to it.
And entropy, yes,
like the focus following the circle of the zero,
there is that which breaks the harmony
and sets everything in motion.
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