At dawn, the year unseals its argent gate,
Where nascent hours in oracular hush wait;
Chronos bows, unchained from oath, from scar, from fate—
At dawn, the year unseals its argent gate.
The yesterdays, in ash and aureate,
Lie sealed like gods dethroned by rite innate;
At dawn, the year unseals its argent gate,
Where nascent hours in oracular hush wait.
Through trial by flame, our covenant takes breath,
A hymn of sinew, grace, and second sight;
We name our hope and wrest it back from death—
Through trial by flame, our covenant takes breath.
What shattered once reclaims its destined breadth;
The sun relearns ascent from ritual night—
At dawn, the year unseals its argent gate,
Where nascent hours in oracular hush wait.
From palimpsests of grief, new fates are spun,
By Moirai's hands that loosen threads of doom;
The heart, reborn, outruns what once was done—
From palimpsests of grief, new fates are spun.
Thus crowned by dawn, our mortal course begun,
We cross time’s threshold, torch in cosmic gloom—
At dawn, the year unseals its argent gate,
Where nascent hours in oracular hush wait.

.    .    .