And he shall find no peace in him; in envy of life and the world was he who could only fight. So once is walked that never brought him nearer to stare. Where gone is he in the creases that fold him through and again from within. Sees not, nor sees bigger; his eyes are slowly in ash. Does not bid others farewell, as is his bidding is not to fare them well. Then within the cloak of night is all but seen though never himself does never forsee. Neither rest nor sleep give him due; for all’s need was never sought. Never, never, and never saw back and brought himself again to see the day, only night; he endures the night in spite of light. Despite light, he only travels during the dark.

Then he’s fighting; then he’s looking round in the dark for the perfect opponent to try. Then he’s looking round for the opponent hidden from him is he himself. So be it; and he’s still wandering for a distant fight ahead. Where is he now? Somehow lost in the midst of the Universe and still looks to fight, whether bare or no.

But long after is all but not, where found is he in his way by a drive not far from whence he came is gone but for short so dark to tell; so dark to tell the road ahead is what he knew. The road done ahead and the road behind long is gone crosses him by the paths that met his way towards the unending lights that guide him through the highways the path only lost. Neither map nor a near satelite may pass him as guide; only the moon, only the moon. The moon that wanders through the dark is he that shook him with bumps that curdle his skin as he drives through the several fields and distant trees that bode him at peace in nature and soitude within the night.

Alas, my friend; he has gone to those parts and never to us return. What lit above is sure as night as sunk below him is heart as heavy what iron lay to ground him beneath the Earth sweeping away the stones he carries before the dark boding as long as he breathes. So long is the anger within much the anger around as soon his only satelite is covered as much his eyes that deign the darkness in deep despair where naught is that which moves him into the wettest recesses of nature where dark and long are the steps to tread ridden with the chill of heat and frozen spikes that descend upon him so well.

Whomever he sought is now the same that bites his flesh by tooth and needle sapping his blood by salty tears. Whatever he is slowly succumbed to substance that soon overtook him. Whenever it is near so shall he be near by that which sunk low beneath. Wherever is loneliness is all the more place long he reigns. Why he destroys himself before his destruction ere what creation made is undone as much destruction he has uttered. How beautiful is the comedy of this man that dares leave his own for another to prove to them he’s the man to be the man he never was nor never will be. Might venom poison my words than more the poison ye drink of that sullen voice you gasp as hawkish every drop is raised and slammed. If be that, then neither is it then and there what I can never blame on ye than myself; for the strongest people are also the weakest.

If you let me I will be the hell that soothes the hell that sends you far. No, I will ride to find you at the precipice of your own adventure. Thy sport being bought for all but not; some trinket that you hold is but cheaper than the heart you wield. Why do you betray my grave by doing this? Read the words I write; my hands shiver from the rain and cold. I await for redemption. Would I dig deep to uncover emptiness inside?

Who arrests me but love and chains me from afar towards the source my destination allows; this sight longing for brutish hollow. I will walk; I will sleep; I will engage; I will run through wind and water to the end that shines me a beauty no rose can sing. Whether cold or not, is but ridden through the heat that ferments my love in blood sweetened by a haze to seek you far where never I bought myself in clouds rising. This lonely path but a queue to the grave; he’s going, going.

Here in wait, there’s a captive here who marks me me; I am that. This neck of mine by that squeals for your name is by empty voice where tears that Nature weeps is destroying me. I would just stop and crash, but this fighter is calling me near. He’s fighting another; he’s going down almost gone, but I’m not done. This ride I’m making is for you; this walk to the distant yond is asking for my back to turn. I go on, there’s a man waiting.

I present unto Nature you and you who look back at me with eyes filled with poison as much myself am so filled with. These guys that once torment me now torment you too. There’s a way inside, there’s a whisper within and shouts through thunder and rain that it breathes through the air and howls its way through the flesh. You look and realise I’m there; let’s go home.

Before leaving was it not that it took effect and who by thorns had grabbed and succumbed me so far down the darkness there was no thought to hide from that darkness. Tossed and turned was I and balled around under the eyes of war that bounty is heart whose heart was not the blood that stained this very heart to drop beneath the ground and look above. Whilst you only in fear were in gaze and fended them off; my peace was made. My heart was made and unmade, it was the last drop that made me rise again. It was you that made me rise again.

If you love me, wait a while and stop your car. My breath is almost spent from running. Thine, thy my breath, and so, but I – I cannot walk for more. Give me an hour for a while. Oh time, whose seconds are but mine hours gone. My love, I am here. There’s risen. Never box thy heart into submission, give me to keep. I’m here within the hours of wait for minutes spent in cold. How my steps are wettened in mud and concrete. Think of all of us, none alone. A cold metal engine inside that echoes through the wild; the road so narrow; the rain so, so loud. Is suddenly hearing me the distant call, miles from a distant echo is he who waits in patience.

As I open the door and sit by your left, I beget myself the sudden world that within this metal had now been changed; the world outside irrelevant, the right way blurred and lost. Tears that ran down me had covered me; though not weeping and no moaning. Utter silence. Silence. Silence. Silence grew the day is but moon that haunts the nightish sky in bore of the dark and mute. Whose breath I can only hear; whose eyes I can only see. Where I look down at the gear, but neutral. Is but neutral, but neither are we. Sudden is my heart that fasts itself within the seat; angles me forward. Is but all too the same as you. What memories had, all flowing through me. Is but I who fades away. Done is the past and gone is the present. A car that breaks silence is but your head that leads the way so am I to follow. Is but silent as we drive towards a distant shadow that haunts my name where by streetlight is a road that moves us towards a future unclear.

 

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Prose, Realism, Works
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