All too often do I find myself here,
once sheltered amongst veils of a
decadent silence now layed in
shadows of inglorious doubt.
And crazed to this somewhat
appealing quandary a reckless
maddening takes hold, a treason
for what no purpose was chosen
nor purpose sought in time.
The illusory world found paved onto
the saddened backs of man.
So callous and wild that not an
enervating breeze could actuate
enough a break in such spells bound
tightly and sure, toward forgotten
souls admired only through bleak
grasps of an untold darkness.
To be lost, pained and then lost again
sees the devastation weigh heavier
for not I, as I have stood tested and torn whilst time cares to forget, and carves an enigmatic path around my stilled motions.
Until, contemplative as all, I become but a memory within time myself and walk on patiently to ruin without fear, or any mortal suffering of connection.
The perfect resolution exists.
R