Howling down those ragged streets.
Wind blown from the deepest of depths;
The most savage of lands.
A place no man could ever stand.
And shattered dreams.
Drifting those streets, ravaging.
I think, what is what.
And what is next, when one becomes not.
A place, a sound, a notion?
Life lived in the face of maybe?
And what does that face look like,
When one cannot see?
Sorrow, and contemptuous greed.
A heartbeat in the core of the sea.
Deep, deep, deep down;
The farthest of depths, escaping all sound.
And what is not;
Transformed from what was never.
And what is never, is always not.
Circling above the land of existential thought
Carried with the current of forgiving naught.
The retched ambiguity of suffered sanity.
So, the days are long.
Especially when a day is not,
And a night is certain, long, worn untill the bitter end.
So… some things, they simply never were.