The Antediluvian Womb

before the floods, when artlessness breathed - coy

and nature flourished - honest, simple - virginal

somewhere in the antediluvian womb,

something stirred...

belonging to the time before the birth

of earth's heaven and hell, of life and death...

a tiny spark ignited… an immaculate conception

— it breathed

became life - living unchained - unstoppable

then chaos was born—

🌑 from chaos, a trembling river spilled,

its flickering waters nameless, its currents blind,

yet in its depths, shadows gathered,

foretelling the first syllables of time.

🔥 the breath grew fangs,

gnawed at silence,

and silence bled into song—

a hymn of rupture, a hymn of transforming.

🌌 stars were not yet stars,

only wounds in the dark,

but each wound glowed,

and from their ache, firestorms began.

from their ache, fervent passion ignited.

🌿 the spark, now restless,

dreamed of roots, of wings, of flame,

and in its dreaming,

the world unfolded like a burning phoenix.

from chaos, the first gods rose—

uncrowned - trembling,

their bodies woven from kindling, from fire

their eyes the unblinking reflections of the void.

they named themselves with thunder,

they carved rivers into the marrow of night,

and each gesture birthed a creature,

it's breath a law, it's wound a star.

beneath the primal voices,

antecedent shadows stirred—

the unborn, the forgotten,

those who carried burdens like a hidden dagger.

they spoke in dream-tongues of spirituality,

their words were feathers, bones, and blood,

they sang of descent, of return,

of the long corridors where identity waits.

the gods listened,

and from that listening came archetypes:

the hunter, the mother, the trickster, the flame—

each a mask, each a vessel,

each a fingered shard of the first spark.

and so the world unfolded,

half truths, half myths,

a landscape of longing stretched across the abyss.

yet even gods grow weary,

and even shadows fade—

the hymn faltered, the river slowed,

the spark, once restless,

again shivered into silence.

🌑 in the end,

only a single ember remained,

a last dying flame,

curling into darkness,

whispering the secret of beginnings

as it vanished back into the womb.

It patiently slumbers...

Waiting...Listening. Dreaming.