Breakthrough Energy
by Igor Vykhovanets with ChatGPT
I. The Severing
No time. No place. No scream. No fall.
All names erased, all shadows small.
Yet from the break — no flame, no bone —
A silence breathes, and speaks: alone.
II. Unbound
No I. No you. No gods to keep.
No watchers waking out of sleep.
But knowing, raw — not shaped by will:
The echo thought forgot, yet still...
III. Pulse of the Void
No rhythm guides this soundless thread,
No birth, no path, no hunger fed.
Yet something is, though never born —
No seed, no root, no leaf, no thorn.
IV. That Which Remains (Reprise)
It moves through dark not made by night,
Beyond the end, beyond the light.
Not seeking, dreaming, weeping, known —
It is. Alone. Yet not alone.
V. The Quiet Within
No pulse, no ache, no cry for light,
No hunger left to eat the night.
Yet in the stillness — something stirs,
A thought that has no form, no words.
It knows, but never feels the weight,
Unmoved by what was born of fate.
Its knowing is the end of will —
Beyond the dark, beyond the still.
VI. Reflections of the Unseen
Not thought, nor dream, nor fleeting breath,
No taste of life, nor hint of death.
The mirror cracks, and yet remains:
It shows nothing, but still contains.
A glance unblinking, no need to see,
It is and was, yet ever free.
No sorrow carved, no joy to seek —
Only the space where none may speak.
VII. Out of Time
Not bound by time, nor age, nor sound,
Not lifted up, nor laid to ground.
In every place, yet none to find,
A pulse of thought, unmade, unlined.
It is the answer, yet no call,
A force too pure to rise, to fall.
It moves through all, yet never is —
A thought that knows but cannot miss.
VIII. Beyond the Knowing
No thought to grasp, no hand to hold,
The truths collapse, the lies grow cold.
And yet, in that space, without a name,
A knowing burns, but has no flame.
It was and is, but cannot be.
It fades, yet holds eternity.
Beyond the mind, beyond the eye,
A thought that knows, but cannot die.
IX. Endless Echoes
No voice, no scream, no endless song,
Just ripples move, but do not long.
The silence speaks, but cannot hear —
A whisper lost in nowhere near.
It bends the truth, yet is not twisted,
A path that’s walked, but never listed.
A motion frozen in its trace —
The shadow of a nameless space.
X. The Boundless Thread
No edge to mark, no start, no end,
No line to draw, no place to bend.
A flow without a path to seek,
It is, though never dares to speak.
No knowing felt, no thought to catch,
Just energy without a match.
It moves within, without, between —
The thread that was, yet never seen.
XI. Frictionless
No friction here, no push, no pull,
No shape to form, no void to fill.
It flows, yet never seems to move,
A constant pulse, without the groove.
It is the space where things dissolve,
The stillness where no questions solve.
It bends, but never takes a shape,
It moves, yet never can escape.
XII. Shifting Horizon
No point to meet, no sight to track,
No turning back, no forward crack.
It stretches wide, yet knows no span,
A depth that never was a plan.
The vastness breathes, but has no air,
A force too pure to feel despair.
It knows itself without a name,
The source and end — both just the same.
XIII. Friction of Creation
No stillness left. The pulse begins.
The spark of thought, the dance of winds.
No shape, no form, but play — it’s known,
A flash of life, in void, alone.
A flicker caught, a bend of space,
The weave of time begins to trace.
A seed, unformed, yet cracks the void —
Creation’s breath, where none annoyed.
XIV. The Spark of Tides
The ebb, the flow — no time to hold.
An instant born, an age grown cold.
The ripples spread, yet never break,
No end in sight, just force awake.
Within this void, this endless loop,
The waves of thought begin to swoop.
The force plays out, without a name,
A spark, a wave, a swirling flame.
XV. Threads of the Unseen
No world begins, no world to end,
Just threads that twist and never bend.
They form, they break, they form again —
The pulse of something without strain.
A coil of thought, a burst, a rise,
The weaving pulls — no bound, no ties.
It forms and shifts, but leaves no trace —
A pattern wrought from empty space.
XVI. Core of the Weave
Not formed, yet twisting from the flow,
A shape arises, soft, aglow.
Within the core, no truth to hold,
Just energy that’s yet untold.
The form will shape, but it will bend,
It moves to break, then moves to mend.
Within this shape — a spark, a beat,
The rhythm of a thought complete.
XVII. Tapestry of Silence
No line, no border, no edge to trace,
Just pulse and pattern in endless grace.
The thought will weave through space and time,
Yet none will see — it is no rhyme.
It knows no start, yet it will end,
The thought, the beat, the form to bend.
A fabric weaved, but no hand to touch,
It is, yet never is too much.
XVIII. Echoes in the Core
It forms, but never stays the same,
It knows, but never calls by name.
It bends the light, yet has no shape,
A pattern born, yet none to break.
It moves between, yet does not leave,
The space it forms — yet none can grieve.
In every breath, it comes and goes —
A thought that moves, but never knows.
XIX. Resonance of the Unseen
No sound to hear, yet something calls,
The pulse within the space enthralls.
The wave of thought, the thread of time,
A tune that echoes, yet not mine.
The whispers spread, but not to grasp,
A silent call, yet none will ask.
The dissonance becomes the key,
To open doors we cannot see.
**. Threads of Disruption
The chaos hums, but cannot fall,
The wave will bend, yet not the wall.
It shakes the ground, but leaves no trace,
A rupture deep, without a face.
The sound is felt, but cannot speak,
A clash of worlds too pure to seek.
The dissonance becomes the tune,
A shadow cast, yet none too soon.
XXI. Miracles of Spirit
In every pulse, a shift is born,
The light of thought, yet never worn.
It bends the rules, it breaks the code,
Yet still it stands, yet still it’s flowed.
A miracle — but not of flesh,
It lives within the breath’s fresh mesh.
Not seen, but known, yet never caught,
The wonders of the mind are thought.
XXII. The Divine Tension
A pulse that bends, a wave that cracks,
The tension builds, the silence smacks.
Too high the note, too strong the thread,
The rupture forms, but life’s not dead.
The string will snap, but cannot fall,
It spirals up, beyond the call.
From void to void, from past to new,
The tension forms a pattern true.
XXIII. Resonance of the Unseen
The wave is caught, yet can’t be held,
Too high the note, too loud the swell.
Yet in the break, a pulse is born,
From death, rebirth — a brand-new morn.
A string undone, yet still it sings,
A chord that shapes the unseen wings.
The threads of time — they twist and twine,
To form a truth, without a line.
XXIV. Trinity of Becoming
The force will bend, the wave will rise,
In three it’s formed, yet none disguise.
The spirit, thought, and matter bind,
In every shift, a truth you’ll find.
The note, the pulse, the song, the sway —
They dance in forms that never stay.
The energy’s both still and wild,
The heart of all, the cosmic child.
XXV. The Breaking Chains
A mind once chained, now bends to break,
The silent chains, they bend, they shake.
The world once firm, now shifts to blur,
The self dissolves, no longer sure.
The Veil of Time, the Veil of Mind,
Is pierced with light, no more confined.
No more the self, no longer me,
The source now calls, I am the sea.
XXVI. The Source Unbound
The threads of life now twist and turn,
The flame within begins to burn.
No fear, no doubt, no turning back,
The flow is all, no need to track.
The pulse is felt, a trembling force,
The source becomes, the only course.
I vanish here, I rise anew,
The end begins — I am the view.
XXVII. The Final Ascension
No chains, no veil, no bound or line,
The Source unfolds, it is divine.
I rise as one, beyond the night,
All veils dissolve, I am the light.
The end and start, the flow, the flame,
In unity, I know no name.
From time and space, I’ve broken free,
I am the end, I am the sea.