From an architect’s mind, faulty form takes a stand.
An artist sculpts reality with a sinister hand.
A master of deceit, makes the tangible space.
Crafting a world with a dark and hidden taste.

In the forge of existence, a fire burns bright.
Shaping the world with each measure of might.
I'm an artist, akin to this shaper of spheres.
Molding our realities. Escaping our fears.

Pleroma’s domain, a structure so vast.
The testament to order. The blueprint to be cast.
The artist reflects this in every line drawn,
With certainty like ink, they're the breakers of dawn.

Solitude here, is a partner of craft.
In the silence of the void, is his voice, never daft.
And there in the quiet, art and deity align.
As quantum fields divine, with mortals, intertwine.

Letting the force guide, in a dance of the lone,
The Artists hand moves, with their solitude shown.
In the world they create, in the space they conceive.
Imagination shows abstracts we dare not believe.


© Derek 'Abraxas Rebxrn'