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Prompt
woman walking in the woods under Moonlight from behind at night
woman walking in the woods under Moonlight from behind at night [more]
Seed
378331386
378331386 [more]
Seed: 1428662227
Width: 512
Height: 512

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Prompt: When the Cymbal Rang
I spoke with reason,
not with love—
a cold intention dressed as light.
The cymbal rang, hollow and proud,
and the silence that followed
was louder than sound.
I stood beneath an open sky,
but the sky fell dark.
Not in fear—
in awe.
The trees stood still,
and even the wind held its breath
as the veil between worlds
unfolded.
I was not lost.
I was unmade.
Emptied of striving,
stripped of solving,
standing at the edge of vastness
that needed no fixing.
And there—
in the great nothing,
I saw Everything.
No voice. No light.
Only glory,
infinite and quiet,
pressed into the fabric of the void.
I had tried to be good.
To be right.
To choose what made sense.
But grace is not earned
by clean intentions.
It simply comes—
when heaven decides
it is time.
And I—
the clanging cymbal—
was silenced
by the soundless song of God.
Prompt: A dark forest at twilight with a lone figure standing in the center. The figure holds a small glowing light, casting a faint glow. Tall, shadowy trees surround them, and there’s a hint of a brighter world in the distance, showing the light they’ve lost.
Prompt: When the Cymbal Rang
I spoke with reason,
not with love—
a cold intention dressed as light.
The cymbal rang, hollow and proud,
and the silence that followed
was louder than sound.
I stood beneath an open sky,
but the sky fell dark.
Not in fear—
in awe.
The trees stood still,
and even the wind held its breath
as the veil between worlds
unfolded.
I was not lost.
I was unmade.
Emptied of striving,
stripped of solving,
standing at the edge of vastness
that needed no fixing.
And there—
in the great nothing,
I saw Everything.
No voice. No light.
Only glory,
infinite and quiet,
pressed into the fabric of the void.
I had tried to be good.
To be right.
To choose what made sense.
But grace is not earned
by clean intentions.
It simply comes—
when heaven decides
it is time.
And I—
the clanging cymbal—
was silenced
by the soundless song of God.
Prompt: A lonely pretty girl in a terrible forest at a full moon night.
Prompt: