What is this darkness? Can I see it, in this blackness full of light? A dawn of wonder crying softly all the while. For in those dreams of succor, there stands an empty hollow, a haunting, callow dread upon his smile.
And in that thunder of the sky which has ripped apart our souls, we lay broken on the shores of destined fate. And there’s no rest, and no release, from the torment looming here, madly thrumming in the aether like a shiver through our spines. It is a wrongness cast so deeply all appears as but a shadow given form by lies of righteous and the damned.
And this pariah sits and wonders as the players carry on, what could drive them to completely come undone. Lusts and rages, joys and triumphs, despoil and despair, all that spirit spent in fractions ’till it burns and gutters still, smoking ’till the gloom has squelched what tiny flame had been. And yet they trundle and they march to an end none claim to know, blithely dragging what they’ve snatched along the way.
What has made us so enamored by the products of our hands, that pursuit of them has led us so astray? Even knowledge is but ashes when no mind is there to seek, lost to ages, deeds forgotten of the past. Can there truly be an answer in a path so warped and jagged? Can there really be a goal to this long mile? And when we, rent and ragged, gaze at the endless still beyond, can we really be content to just subsist?
These opiums have snared us tightly, petty trinkets, lies, and worse. Where we toil but to eat or own a house or bauble to slake our pride. Precious time transformed to plastic, as if eons lie ahead, thus we play at the only life we have. I reject this rotten pathos and the trappings it has wrought, save to find some greater meaning than to drone away my time, lest my breath be all but glimmer in the sand.