divine non-being

In the vortex of being, a stillness whispers,
echoes nothingness, in chambers of silence.

Existing without essence, without the figure itself,
navigate chaos, without a compass of mercy.
Being is a burden, non-being is a torment,
the void extends into an endless abyss.
The pain of chaos, a lament in the wind,
a silent scream, in which I lose myself.

In the dance of time, steps without destination,
where being is chance, and non-being is divine.
The search for meaning, in tortuous paths,
reveals the irony of idle desires.
Post-eternal is the lament of an age without a face,
where being falls apart and non-being is heartbreak.

But in poetry, there is a meeting in the refuge of rest,
for the weight of being and the chaos that I tame.