I do have to get rid of all the clutter;
All that has not really mattered to me for this recent era of my days;
The insignificant dust which has formed this grey layer on the non-superficial surface of my life and of my days;
Truly, very few have proven to be true, to be real; and the rest have only been anything but real.
I do have to move where truthfulness resides and where the constant flow of life is ever-changing, ever-brimming with the vitality of a breath which comes in and brings only hope.
Never has my existence been as fragile as it is today; the promise of better days has shaped into a fantasy; ever so scattered and far-fetched.
Dreams have exhausted their notions of being and so have nightmares their blatancy and wilderness and here lies this less-than-perfect reality; only this time, it’s less than perfect, more than ever!
Loneliness has lost all meaning and its mere being could no longer be recognized or even felt for that matter.
I for one do feel no less than before; not even a speck; all the sensations are right where they’ve ever been; as keen as they’ve ever been and they do perceive and they do feel.
It’s just, there’s a new attribution of taste to time; one of bitterness.
There’s a new contribution of motion to life; one of stagnancy.
The relativity of that fracture of a second has never been this perishable and this brings of pain and of madness.
We could have been more joyful and more alive;
Only we didn’t really ever know how to…
Only we were ever wandering the numerous paths with but few certain destinations.