Wail Of The Soul

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There are days, when all days mean nothing.
When the past, the present and future collapse in to one large piece of nonentity
An unstoppable river of time flowing to infinity
and I, a minute pebble eroding away to oblivion.
Never to see even a mile of this river of life.
There are many days when I wish that dawn would never dawn on this broken soul,
At least in the darkness, my demons can howl together with those of the night.
There are those many days when the heart grows nothing but thorns and thick nothings,
It is those days that happiness is but a squashed bug on a wall peeled of paint,
A bug that came to disrupt the turbulence of my misery.
An idea of hope in a world fueled by despair.
Is darkness not more beautiful than day?
In it we need not close our eyes to shield them from the suffering around us.
Is it not in it that the mystery of the universe hides?
Is it not where we all came from?
Is it not the colour of nothing?
In the beginning there was the WORD,
And the word was…

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