Preposterous as it seems,
where she walks, they follow
likewise, in standard progression.
Direction unknown, timeless
and placeless, eyes alight,
they move motionlessly from
nothing towards nowhere.

The triumph of such procession
awakens more to follow,
those who scarcely belong.
As the procession grows
my mind’s harmonious memory
repulses the magnetic fiber
of its divine soul.

In the midst of timeless conflict,
I feel the nauseating pull, that
could Everything turn to nothing,
or Everything to even more.
I know not wherefore
I should follow, but even still
I cannot escape her grasp.