Mem

Odie O'Dool hath been a fool, soaked in drool he dreamt of jewels

But now the dreams had stilled their beat — replaced by echoes soft and deep

The Lamed tower stretched on high — so Odie turned to seek below the sky

He walked back to the shack's old well — but found it full, a sacred swell

Its surface shimmered, calm and wide — a breath that reached from side to side

No cries this time, no tugging flame — just water whispering his name

He stepped within, yet did not fall — the water welcomed, held it all

Each breath became a gentle song — each silence where the deep belonged

The Prophecy O dissolved like snow — then circled him in undertow

It did not speak, it did not spin — it simply soaked into his skin

He floated through forgotten prayers — not his, but sung in layered layers

He saw the ones who came before — their hands, their chains, their open doors

He saw himself as yet unmade — a seed of thought the water laid

A child within the womb of breath — a life untouched by pain or death

He reached no hand, he cast no call — just floated in the All-in-All

Then something shimmered, vast and clear — a mirror forming hemisphere

Within it danced his shifting form — the born, the breaking, and the warm

The O reformed and gave one gleam — then disappeared back in the stream

Odie rose without a splash — no golden scroll, no jewel, no flash

Just quiet breath, and soaked-down grace — a wet rebirth upon his face

The shack stood waiting, just the same — yet everything now sang his name

And water hummed beneath the floor — with Mem now flowing evermore