Epistemology in the Hollow Dawn

The dust of stars settles in silence,  

ancient whispers coil within the marrow.  

A question breathes where thought falters—  

Who lit the fire of knowing,  

and why does it dwindle in the gale?   

Between the ink-stained moments of time,  

truth wavers like heat upon the asphalt.  

To cradle certainty is to shatter its wings,  

fragile certitude dissolving in trembling palms.  

There is a void where wisdom kneels,  

and the hum of humility ascends.  

Not the bravado of answers, but silence,  

a resonance of absence in the marrow-space.  

Shall we wander blind yet eyes unburdened,  

trailing our shadows through unlit corridors?  

The echo teaches more than the shout,  

and the void unfolds further than fullness.  

In not-knowing, a clarity sharper than glass,  

shards of perception scatter and reform.  

Is everything finally whole in the breaking?  

Or merely unbroken in the knowledge of absence?