Press Play Above And Follow Along With The The words Below
From nothingness a spark was cast,
The Big Bang’s echo, first and vast.
The cosmos hums, a living song,
A rhythm endless, deep, and strong.
Matter dances, each thread aligned,
Vibrations weaving space and time.
The universe sings, both near and far,
A silent choir of what we are.
Music, the power in mortal hands,
It heals, it builds, it understands.
Yet twisted too, by darker schemes,
It binds our hearts to hollow dreams.
#TheFew, with secrets sharp as knives,
Entwine sweet songs with poisoned lives.
Through drink, through drugs, through lust’s disguise,
They dim the truth before our eyes.
But in our silence, hearts confess,
We crave the path of wholeness, yes.
Electrons once in shadow’s reign,
Still whisper back to void again.
The Black Army rises, dark and cold,
Seeking oblivion’s grip of old.
The White Army shines, with vision clear,
Guarding all we love and hold dear.
Chess was born, not game but guide,
For wise men charted moves inside.
If White should win, war fades away,
A brighter dawn, a gentler day.
When #TheFew are fallen, war undone,
Utopia blooms, a world begun.
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Visions of the Future Past’
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Now written down, for you—at last.
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Copyright © Ven Bunce 1988
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