The need to dive deep and descend to the summit—
To reach the peak inversion—
Is never to be understood by disassociative dullards.
The langauge of light is leaven—
A yeast that expands and rises as it consumes—
The bread made is light, fluffy and filled
With air pockets of cavernous darkness.
This is the body—
Physical, present, bulky—
Easy to bite into, chew.
Swallow.
The darkness is consumed with the light,
Snuffed out in an esohpageal enclosure,
A boa constrictor with an antimatter mouth—
Tyrannical is the throat of transfixion.
To dive deep,
To climb the descent of death—
To stare at the singualrity within
As it swallows light and shadows—
Is to face reality with the roar of a dragon.
To defeat the darkness
One must find the light from within,
Fire it up, let it swell,
And release it with relish.
Burn, baby, burn!
Scorch the dark skies to ashen clouds—
Watch them blow away—
The dragon rises and is here to stay.
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
Tittu
Tristan Robert Lange 
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