Drifting through the winds that blow, travelling whilst cloaked through the time that flows – I have become frozen. Much like the summits that I dream, my longings and aspirations stay towered, far, far out of reach. The bounds of the summits I envision are beyond the bounds of any sense of mortality that I have known; for their towering’s remind me much of the structures that I had once gazed upon before, fixated on fortunes and future that had never came to be – always longing for the daybreak that never truly manifest.
Upon the locking of the doors I have grown close to the very essence that is time, I have come to know it’s intentions of these treacherous and viscous cycles it so desperately craves to uphold and withstand; for the very circling it manifests is also the very formulation of the process of birth it yearns to create – new time, strange time, quickening time, that would see that all that it meets will be all there will ever be – at the end of it all. But even despite knowing it’s intentions and merits, this time, still seeks to race me and what I’ve become. For in a room drenched in glooming red hues upon dying suns was from whence I was born; baptized out of blackened waters and delivered from an end I know all to well,
I shall eventually consume. But even during these moments of pure and unintentional stagnation, during these fragments in whatever time I can dispel this to, I can feel the lingering ember from within. An ember that contains the freezing at dangerously close thresholds, an ember that longs to burnout along with the rest that was drowned, from those times before then, and those times before now. An ember that longs to follow in the footsteps of it’s creator, it’s founder. An ember that yearns to be set free atop the summits peak, and held high, only for the darkest of nights to claim all that it had become.
