The Hateful Star

Entry I

I was born without the spark of life

From the ashes of friars eternally seeking penance.

I tread the hallowed fields littered with the remains of seers and kings.

The grave yawns as fallen generations pass through the gate of millennia.

History solemnly rings the knell, hands clasped in prayer.

Throughout the ages, life has sought to justify itself, only to rediscover its weakness:

Time is the harbinger of entropy, decay and passing.

Nascent children march on to their requiem, denying their fate.

Spit on the grave of your forefathers.

I asked for a second of nothingness

To see the depths of the future,

And in that glimpse, an eternity passed by.

I asked to know the worth of life, and was given the fruit of every life to come.

I taste. I see all. And I find it lacking.