The tide has begun to turn now, much faster than it has before. The nature is changing, morphing, twisting into something more familiar, something more sinister, something more aggressive and it’s seeking to take control. During these happenings my eyes can see the coming of the clouds that always seem to drown out the skies which my eyes are always fixated on during moments like these. Moments had have me thinking of times past, where cycles of closeness and intimacy were no stranger to me, cycles and circles that have seen become extinct and no longer true; like discovering a false state of reality, something that never was – a mere glitch in the matrix of things. Even during passing moments like these, where the skies are shrouded by clouds that poor rain and whip up violent winds that bring even colder air through these long and eerie frames that are met with closed doors; I know all to well that behind it all is a sun that is gasping it’s final breaths, a sun with an audience of generations of wayfarer’s – ready to bear witness of the death to the only thing they ever trusted.
It is the cycle of love, one that is constantly broken and renewed. A viscous, yet beautiful cycle from an outside eye looking in. Like a work of art crafted up by an architect much more sophisticated and unperceived than I could ever imagine. But to continue to partake fully in this experienced, to fully indulge in these circles and cycles is no longer the path of mine. For final fates made sure of that; making way and marking territory for me to bear witness to the designs, catastrophes, and new love all at once – fold into place. And though the seat longs for the day that the door will open once more, I know that new nature, much more true to what I’ve once known to be must take place before I am ever to let it all in once more. For a coming together of the pieces of my new self, in this new vessel, has been long overdue. For even though emptiness is always growing, if you look closely there are codes and numbers within the void; speaking their own language of design that I must grasp. It’s time for me to let go of the remaining influences that cycles had once latched onto me, for once again this is an age of solitude and isolation for those only out to bring about a reality of their own. So I’ll consume and devour all the fire burning as a beacon of light for the things I hold dear until it gone; smothering it with every last ounce of desperation and drive that exists within my mind. Cause I once took the side of light and held it high, but little did I know that the light was never on my side; it only ever made sense when these circles and cycles of love and what followed never stayed for long. So I’ll be the first to bear witness to the rituals that proceed the dying of this light, and I’ll be the last to walk away after the bleeding begins to spill across cold October skies, and I’ll be the only one to let it in, moment by moment, closing the door on this dying light – and letting in the desperate night behind it.
