unconscious

Slumber awaits us

To reside in slumber bears weakness in my heart. 

 

I am not yet ready to ascertain the thoughts which dwell deep within my conscious mind, unbearing of the truth that is fortold upon diminishing it's recess, for I tremble as the witness to my own unconscious. It is here that I am forever entranced by the ideas of love and eternity, which inevitably have their own fate within my course of existence. Frequently, I wonder why such a dubious pattern of life emulates in the form that it so deliberately does. Fear lies within the wounds of my tormented soul as I try to reclaim the steps of what I've once known. My life is but a glimse of what lies ahead, a journey I know will beckon the everlasting hardships of the conscious collective. For the reasons of understanding nothing, while believing fully in the ever expanding source of knowledge from which we graze, I cease to acknowedge any bit of certainty that may lay claim to my being. Nothingness is apart of the universal collective, assimilated through light into the realm of the physical, yet transcended from the dominion that fabricates our ascension. At times I begin asking myself the questions of eternity, only to revert back to the darkness encompassing my vision, as I lay still in my bed.

 

Untelling is the way of the mind, and unparalleled is the insanity that it may bear. 

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