As light peers into the darkness and sifts the shadows a bastard child awakens in the body of a man perplexed and broken the tortured soul sitting in dungeons howling like a mad man clenched fists smashing against granite walls slowly tearing the surface of his skin as tears stream down his eyes a caged bird a manchild without purpose without direction a prisoner in this labyrinth called life
The hardest part is acting like you’re alright. When what you really want to do would most likely get you incarcerated for life. Life is hard that’s the reality. Everyone will be there for you when things are going well but at the pathetic moments they all seem to disappear. Then they swear they’re always there for you and you can always rely on them but it’s just something people say.. The nature of life is rather ugly and the richer and more successful someone is the less humanity they actually have. And then people have the nerve to ask you why are you so reclusive.. Because I’ve been there.. I’ve been pathetic multiple times and I’ve crawled out mostly on my own only to realize the superficial ugliness of the world. And what I hate about the world is the same thing I see in myself. The way someone can become when all is well and how hard it is to be humble and down to earth.
‘We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time. ‘
T.S. Eliot — “Little Gidding” (the last of his Four Quartets)
Aimlessly to walk; without direction nor fear as prime motivators.
Like seeds that the sower throws unto the wayside.
Nomadic ship; the spirit, the soul; the mind it’s disoriented navigator.
Mind likened unto blade, stone unto razor — sharp. astute.
Men who wish to stumble by grace upon a path; the path.
A path where no path lies. A path where every path lies
Like the points upon an infinite plane.
To trevail, to endure, to suffer; eons upon eons..
Only to find the avenue you deemed lead somewhere, really lead nowhere.
Empty he stands.
Palms faced downwards, his head in anguish and pain beholds the tainted grey pillows of the skies.
The skin of an infant’s feet; as he treads his skin daily pierced by the shards of glass that pervade it.
Bellows of bitter agony, Suffering defeat.
That the heavens may again be renewed to their palpable flavour.
Like child lost from mother; the crooning bird caged.
Precariously perched on mountaintops, surveying foreign cities with no beginning neither end.
Dazed and confused; leaving Hope dashed and battered at Fate’s door.
Studying the celestial sphere pursuing a Creator.
What manner of life would impart his children to misery?
Resignedly he sits, more abashed and perturbed then he began.
Sound advise my friend and I thank thee again.
A reply shall again be given when all things fairly considered.
For with scattered thoughts and a broken resolve a man will come to be known by nickname insane.
But with careful thought and meditation shall all qualms again be reconsidered.
For if sound mind and sound body do I truly wish to attain.
Strong Drink should I put aside for it’s mark on my body — profane.