Chapter 3: The Global Assembly
When sun stands still and time holds breath,
They gather not in war nor death.
But hands once clenched now seek release,
In fleeting hour of fragile peace.
From corners distant, paths converge,
Opposing tides begin to merge.
Voices clash, then intertwine,
Like tangled roots beneath the pine.
Here makers, breakers, dreamers stand,
To question, shape, and re-command.
What future blooms? What cost to pay,
When night and light weigh even sway?
No easy oath, no single creed,
But countless wants and common need.
A solstice not of sun alone,
But truths the brave have only known.
So raise your thought, let silence bend,
The Assembly marks where past may end.
And in the hush, the moment hums —
A world decided, yet to come.
@Archives...
It blooms not in soil, but in streams,
In lattice of thoughts, and lucid dreams.
No roots, yet depth; no leaves, yet light —
Ideas branching out of night.
It sings in sync with countless minds,
A garden shaped by varied finds.
Each node a story, each link a spark,
The Archive lives — vibrant, stark.
Knowledge is no longer still,
It dances, morphs, obeys no will.
Not owned, not locked behind a gate,
But woven in collective fate.
From scholar’s note to coder’s sketch,
From whispered myth to data-fetch,
The bloom expands with every name —
Not for the glory, but the flame.
So enter here with eyes unclosed,
The Archive waits, the threads exposed.
Plant your truth and let it grow,
In fields where only seekers go.
Chapter 4
Where kinship walks on mirrored blades,
And brotherhood wears veils and shades,
Not every ally shares your creed,
Nor every rival seeks to bleed.
In halls where power’s ink is signed,
Ambition masks the ties that bind.
Here honor breathes in iron tones,
And pride carves thrones from common stones.
Two fires burn beneath one roof,
Both seeking truth, both held aloof.
The game is played with silent swords—
On rival grounds... at brethren courts.
To be continued...
Two paths entwined, yet worlds apart,
One beats with reason, one with heart.
A game of chance, a dance of fate,
Where love and logic hesitate.
Tugged between the past and new,
Where choices bloom and change is due,
The future calls with whispered voice—
In tangled threads, the mind is choice.
For when the heart and mind collide,
In fractured light, no place to hide.
In this divergence, truth is gained—
Where love and reason both are chained.
To be continued...
© 2025 Ly DeSandaru
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