Musings of… well… something.

The closed in walls of infinite bliss and strangely forgotten souls dance in the night like the beat of a thousand drums. Time stretches into the beyond and where it will end no one really knows. But we keep on moving steadily toward the grey curtain of silver glass. It’s confusing me, the way we walk our paths, like new born deer who can’t yet find stable ground for untrained legs. In the confusion we call understanding and the juxtaposition of the reality of filth that we call good deeds, we all lie in the mire of the darkest parts of our souls.

But if you listen really closely, through deceit screams a voice of ultimate truth that we cannot deny. I remember hearing the rectification of not casting pearls before swine, and that should we speak at walls, our best bet is to stop and listen for the revealing of oneself. But internally we all harbor some area of our soul reserved for pandemonium. That, I think is how we end up curating our own hell on earth.

I don’t think it needs to be this way, but I also haven’t figured out how to exit that room and lock the door. Oh well, there is always this moment I have now to try, and every moment following. Because tomorrow is promised to no man. I can no longer understand leaving with anything left on the table. This life is the one meal we get, and I run myself willingly into the ground seeking satiation.