The Neverending Stored He

Foundations of glory are unclear, for no unfeigned destiny prevails. Loss of boundaries, we have, for undue fame, yet there is the possibility of the nothing and human apathy to cloud the visceral discernment.

Words said late, hold true meaning, but the progress proceeds through the loops. The why of destiny asks again, with limited answers as both stand in duress.

We want the same through our masks of victimization, holding our individual life noose of circumstance. Pull tighter we do, with blindly lit eyes, looking for each other.

The force of absolute oblivion that plagues the human condition, thought to be a loss of innocence, might be the freedom of childless dreams.

Unhook your truisms and stand with me in the mist of her gray. The featureless and formless hold respite. There is nothing to prove and nothing to be, no more stories to tell or impressions to make. The freedom is the freeing, a loss of everything finds something. We promise.