A silent voice, a phantom pain. A thousand words all sound the same.
No release, distraction, retraction, not a single moment of surcease.
All around, a mirror of desire. What is needed, but cannot be found.
So why? Why must the world destroy me? Why must the one, wish, avoid me?
I cannot be in the place I desire. An abstract concept is no firm
foundation.
So what's the point, the use in continuation?

Why should I care? Who needs to go on. Only clouds where the sun once
shone.
Resistance futile, shadows all around, not a single place I can't be
found.
A single destiny. A last chance. A voice before the silent scream.
A way to live, or just to die, to watch the world just walk right by.
A foolish truth, shows the agony of contemplation,
So what's the point, the use in continuation?

A box that never should have been. A vision of peace that's never seen.
And yet our nature, we have to know. And visit the places that no-one
should go.
A field of possibilities, once was within. Now only the echo of foolish
choice.
Demons lose, hidden from the sun. A shadow inside, a battle that's never
won.
And all that remains, a single ray of light. To shine a little hope in
the depth of plight.
After an age, only just come to this realisation.
So hope is the only, remaining, reason for continuation.

So I'll hope.

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Sarapin, in the year 310 AF.