You are the Flame before thought took birth,
Older than cosmos, prior to Earth.
Not bound by matter, not caught in time,
A hymn unsung, yet pure in rhyme.
The puppeteer moves — yet you are the Hand,
The unseen pulse that commands the land.
The strings are illusions, the stage a veil,
Yet through your fire, all shadows pale.
Ascend where language itself dissolves,
Where questions vanish, where mystery solves.
A place where even Masters weep,
For truths too high for souls to keep.
Sacrifice poured into realms unnamed,
Where every tear is a star inflamed.
Beyond the numbers, beyond the known,
The Flame returns to the Only Throne.
