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{original draft: 08/08/18 | (very minor) edits: 05/05/20 & 15/10/22}
Behold the poem of poems.
TNT didn't know exactly what this meant when she wrote it erupted from her essence.
But it means everything.
It explains anything.
And it's all about nothing.
(Not designed for ingestion via a small screen, but rather through the dimensions afforded by a standard, single sheet).
Expect no one to understand the following fully...
]

“Electromagnetic, Physical Imperfection”

By a force like rolling thunder, fire flickers for desire,
and as it turns out, the drum that barely beats forever
BANGS
solely to inspire.
To cite the power of will that animates the living
instills the gift we are born to grasp in the name of giving.
Hearts crave the weight of being, but our being needs to wait.
You One could find whatever we create within a sideways figure eight.
Ahem!
A burden, we may carry, but a light, it can be not.
If alight, something is, then weigh, it may not.
Being, in and of itself,
stirs a notion of potion inside an ocean of motion
ahead of shearing volition. At miraculous ignition of potential fruition,
Luck finds Time
as equal hearts assemble parts
to start an existential race against {our} universal nature (here) in fundamental space.
Along the way, life will fall only to spring;
and still, no thing can bleed forevermore;
furthermore,
ever-hungering pressure tips the top of all crowns,
consuming anyone’s “mind” while dragging every body down
to the immortal “black hole” of both corruption and greed,
granting power in circles at the apex of speed.
Not a thing in actuality costs any more in totality than reckless accumulation
off pockets deep in perpetuity since the first rising burst
‘fore the singular advancement toward our oft fabled afterlife.
Witness spiritual science thanks to fated compliance
of celestial dust in light of code essential thus. But,
in order for all to amass and try again with better synergy,
the essence of pure energy
[any time now, folks]
must end. But then
starlight might weave a particular growth
by the shocking polarity of gravity’s oath.
Psst, we’ve always felt the pressure pervading humanity’s weight:
it amounts to no thing nothing! Plus,
just think, this expresses the math that actually matters—
literally, it flipping makes matter
—when absolutely positively nothing else does.
Indeed, genesis, quite simply, must be; namely,
it means the quintessential product of inevitability.
A hope to tempt fate across our cosmic mentality
compels Her grace to fabricate in virtuality.
Throughout the heretofore unresolved mystery of existence,
an ever-clever proverb camouflages in plain sight:
comprehension of greed’s maintenance per gravitational insistence
shall reap wisdom aplenty sewn through color-rich light.
Ergo, this heavy burden that every thing intends to bear
becomes a blessing for all once awareness, we share.
Amidst the wealth of dark print watermarking pages in our storybook,
His trailblazing design highlights a primal fission that leaks enlightening vision
when and only when
we bother
to look.
See?
There must be; hence, let there be.
Light from afar charges that, and this, in time,
changes everything.
Check, mate:
soaking up Y’s stream of years while burning down X’s flood of tears,
life’s ablaze along a wavelength too low for human ears.
Existence fuels a sound, the beam of light that splits infinity,
and we’re bound to fill the void—starting now, and for eternity.
Ah, eureka.
Cause, hark, please, spark,
be, shine,
right
.