Still life is what stands before us now, with morphing’s long since past as our eyes now fixate towards the greying film that shrouds the afternoon and early evening skies. Our lives, even now in the present moment are nothing more than memories, distant dreams riding off into some strange sunset where reality collides with oblivion, where darkness meets the void – where fear meets the truth. It has all been so evident to me in distant paths where I had once questioned where this would all lead, the tethering of threads unlike one another, all searching desperately for a conjoining that would bring about an end to this unraveling of final fates, but nevertheless this reality violently steers towards otherwise.
In knowing this, I wake. jarred and trembled once more with a psychotic sort of knowing that all will soon meet an end that is still all to blurry for me to grasp. For what lies beyond the closing, yet still open door remains unknown to me, forbidden from my reach until fates fruitions have been made. The voices heard from beyond the door are of shrouded whispers, speaking in tongues and chants that have lead me to seek out the very communion that I shall soon put into motion, like a pathway for the rider who races against the tides of fate, like a beacon for the midnight drifter who walks amongst the shadows and fates, alike, awaiting the darkest hour for an end to begin like none other, or like the culmination of us all – running out of time and coming to the terms that the foundation that used to hold us has long since begun to crumble, this very reality, coming undone as we know it. So in these hours leading up to the darkest moments of our existence we wake, in search of wisdom, in search of truth, in search of purpose and destiny – for as all sense of precious life begins to leave us, all that remains is the core of the soul that holds barren what this is all.
