Ramblings on the Plain
I write my words as if isolated in an endless tug of war between the titans of my past and the mornings that I once yearned to look for, learning of the endless deaths that come upon me, and hard! I say, Hark! of the morning that I cannot see and I cannot do, but I yearn to see, and I cannot know and will never know where I will be able to come and I do not understand why the endless darkness that encompasses the things I love and the things I have always wanted to see does not come upon me not and uncover my eyes of the endlessness that Has come upon my weak and fragile frame. Some things are meant to be hidden, meant to be in that emptiness charged with the spice of mystery, but I have uncovered them and I cannot remain but an endlessness, the beauty I se inside everything cannot be real for if it is, why do I still cry? why do I remain on this endless plain of misery from which I have seen all of the corners apart from the centre. The centre still remains inside of a cloud of unknowing, and I cannot see whence I came, nor where I am going, I t is so empty that the lack of any features is a feature in itself. I do not understand and I cannot see past the horizon, and I am not sure that it would be in any capacity the right thing to do, For now, I am alone in this world, but I will make my own - I will construct out of my mind those who will accompany me to the centre, where I will be able to see and understand all of the things.