Tortured Muse

In my dream, I yell into the void and the void yells back, echos and fades. Each reverberation less distinct than the last. In my dream, we are carbon copies trapped in an infinite regression to some dull mean. In my dream, consciousnesses rise and fall like diadems in a black pool of chaos; to be here and then to be forever gone. In my dream, the universe ever expands and is ever unable to understand itself. In my dream, civilizations reach up and through the stars as other civilizations crumble into the dust. In my dream, there is He Who Remains and That Which Is. In my dream, there is a a great cult that weeps for All That Was; worshippers of the dead. In my dream, it is the heroes that are lost among the stars and found in the hope of generations. In my dream, I dream of That Which Comes.