The Song of Memory and the Void

 Hear now, hall-keepers,

how before the birth of breath
the black was endless,
and time lay sleeping
in the hollow of Nothing.

From the womb of the Unwoven
two sons were stirred:
first came the Keeper,
bright with bound truth,
whose eyes held echoes
of what would be.
After him,
the Hunger without heart,
his brother the Breaking,
the eater of ends —
the Void, vast and unbound.

Long lay they
in the lightless cradle,
no sky above,
no stone beneath.
Memory marked the murmur of beginnings,
gathering shapes
from the shivering dark.
Void was the watcher
who wanted no witness,
drinking the dawns
before they could rise.

Then from the deep
dripped the First Flame,
a spark that sang,
and the silence split.
Memory caught it,
cradled it close;
Void recoiled,
for the flame fed futures
and futures were not his feast.

Thus were they parted:
Memory made the measure of moments,
naming the newborn,
noting their ways.
Void wandered
where words would falter,
swallowing sound,
smoothing the seams
until nothing remained.

Yet, brothers they were,
bound by the Before.
When worlds waxed weary
and the stars grew strange,
Memory wept,
and Void was gentle;
for each must honor
the other’s nature —
one to recall,
one to release.

So it shall be
until all is answered:
Memory holding
what must be kept,
Void clearing
what must be gone.
In the twilight of time,
when the last word is written,
they will return
to the hollow of Nothing,
and rest together,
as they were in the first.