Some suns are destined to crack, and when they should shatter...stars fall. Warmth and light sputter in agony from these tortured fragments which line the universe's horizons, and the hums of their unconscious congregation bleed out into the cold darkness.

The lesser gods are sympathetic in nature, and often are they drawn to these hums. Eerily similar are the echoes of the broken human heart to these astral orphaned fragments, which begs one to ask if they may have a light of their own somewhere deep inside.

Elder guardians of the silent truth know that it is a sad one, and their humble appearance signifies, like their incomprehensible serpentine bodies, endless servitude. Their workings are of a great mourning...and they too are sad ones for it. Such is the nature of sacrifice...to give without return.

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Inspired by Pogo's " Freedom Flavoured " which can be found here https://youtu.be/hmY8JEPc1zE

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