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How harsh that hands as crude as these can produce something as tranquil as that.
How unthinkable the act of unholy purity.
For we are but fallers, ever falling in the midst of our illusions.

Experience the peace of the rain when the clouds merge then,
Inhale the gentleness of the wind in places long forgotten,
Watch the ferocity of lightning in dark and gray,
Listen to the sound of silence.

Ever one, never changing, flowing with the rhythm,
Like an unstoppable river, a force of nature,
On top of waves ever rolling and calm equalness,
I see the crossroads of uncertainty.

Right beside the vision of laziness,
I fall guilty to its seduction,
I cannot help but feel sad for myself and the people around me,
We are shadows of ourselves,
Living a life of unworthiness.

And what the crap am i writing,
Perhaps an act of random will,
Or just justifying myself with thoughtless acts,
What am i doing in my progression?
What am i working towards?
What am i doing?




Random-ing.