Dear Sorrows

My life is like a dream, in which I swim towards clarity. Yet how can I know what clarity is if I was never awake? I patiently wait for death – the moment when I shall wake up in a cold empty stone garden, where light forms its only element. I live in my own mind. Reality seems like an incomplete mirage of the shards from my afterlife. I live towards completion, towards my awakening, towards death. Yet how this piece sings on and yet it seems all is under the purview of my reflections and foresights. I know nothing, yet I see the closed circle that this movement will be. But will that life after death be a better, a more forgiving one? When can I escape from this nightmare and who will save me?

Who can break this necessary pathos of the romantic ideal? How shall I brew the potion of my mastery with all the sadness of this world yet be loved for it? How can I love? Whom can I love? What is love? 

All hope seems to me lost in the world of mortals. Who with a pure heart will walk through the mystical labyrinth of ideas? Who will sing for me? In whose presence may I truly find consolation and peace? I must walk alone. I must dwell in the mountains, with the birds and the trees, with the snow and the rocks, and walk, and walk, and walk…. Until I die; until I am awake. 

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Published in: on 02/02/2016 at 8:05 AM  Leave a Comment  

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