True; long was that time did he himself conspire,
Though not his way, suddenly sees another world,
And as he walks through the fog he continues so,
No steps nor ladder, never that nor path to climb,
Effects the path is he whose mind is clear; alas,
Fall’n, but fall’n so his paces were never more,
Because the path behind was lost, but still walked;
Continues to walk that path, but long none; which?
So fares the walk and climbs the fog as blind be;
Now only darkness exhibits himself as ire his feign
The light once it knew now can only better imagine,
Whilst silence invites a deafening man to his sleep,
Where faint steps only breach the ears once he heard,
Soon lingers and walks neither sight nor hearing fare,
At long last thinks for once and his conscience tried,
Soon reeling upon the rope he thought was there, nay;
Had been cut loose from the very start, with no end near,
So shouts he from what distance unknown whence he bursts,
Whilst calling for help, so shall it be his last calling;
The thought of all men primary, only the last word his;
Real now is the man neither voice nor sight nor hearing,
Only now shall his mind haunt him, all once bottled
Shall reveal themselves to astonish what could have been;
Anguish, anger, sadness and gaiety all themselves marry
In the bonds of hands held, his mind only seeps through;
There it pours through him and into him is the result,
Still walking but soon collapsing lest his energy lost,
Nearer but closer and farther away he his mind swallows,
A gulp so heavy that pulls him to the ground so well,
For whose mind has lesser force than gravity? Thus,
In that embryonic position he weeps a final,
Yearning his rebirth whilst facing his last,
And soon breathes again, and again breathes;
That breaches him now is only his mind,
Whence he conspires against himself,
But no antidote to be found; refused;
He is in the darkness alone.

Family, Life, Mysterious, Nature, Nocturnal, Poetry, Works
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