It never seemed a pressing issue, to relieve oneself of life’s ever-increasing solitude.
The recent past, the advent, from time spent on solitary walks – through acres of life – on an exponential increase. In crowds, yet without company. The darkness of an empty house takes on yet a fresher coat of shadow; ruthless and ever-expanding in it’s occupation.
But when one walks the solitary walk, along the path and on the ceramic – with clicks of heels and the trudge of soles – one cannot easily fathom the utter mystery that has befallen him. A freak of probability and a rotten chance among many.
Toil he may, through night and day, but the answers they elude, evade. Truly, is it fate? Or is it part of an agency, an unconscious construction of his own destruction? Did he work towards this end, knowing all along that no other finale was more fitting than a crown of failure on a bed of roses? How would he know, not ’til the end, with skies aflame, and no embrace.
Feel the sand, crush it in your hands. Trace the footsteps, far where they lead, a wisp of hope and uncertainty. Turn now the path, sink now the land, the waves come in, you’ve stepped too far.
Footsteps, gone. A step too far. And I know not where I have come.
Date
It never seemed a pressing issue, to relieve oneself of life’s ever-increasing solitude.
The recent past, the advent, from time spent on solitary walks – through acres of life – on an exponential increase. In crowds, yet without company. The darkness of an empty house takes on yet a fresher coat of shadow; ruthless and ever-expanding in it’s occupation.
But when one walks the solitary walk, along the path and on the ceramic – with clicks of heels and the trudge of soles – one cannot easily fathom the utter mystery that has befallen him. A freak of probability and a rotten chance among many.
Toil he may, through night and day, but the answers they elude, evade. Truly, is it fate? Or is it part of an agency, an unconscious construction of his own destruction? Did he work towards this end, knowing all along that no other finale was more fitting than a crown of failure on a bed of roses? How would he know, not ’til the end, with skies aflame, and no embrace.
Feel the sand, crush it in your hands. Trace the footsteps, far where they lead, a wisp of hope and uncertainty. Turn now the path, sink now the land, the waves come in, you’ve stepped too far.
Footsteps, gone. A step too far. And I know not where I have come.
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