Distance: Non Existent.
No line nor notch.
All was in union; form of Indra’s net.
Til’ it all collapsed; crashing to cataclysm arcane.
Submersible crushed by depth,
of nature’s loathing vacuum.
Like humanity, creation loathes to be ‘lone.
So matter pulled.
Atoms reach and touch,
Reached and touched its own kind.
At some point, the love of Fibonacci formed,
Some Omniversal Obsession.
Galaxies grappled with their own core.
At the smallest level,
Layered knots lined for eternal parade,
Primordial Ooze, or fashioned from clay.
Whether by omniscient hand,
Or omnipresent volatility.
The Golden Ratio;
The Infinite Rotation.