time, age, the world shifts deeper into the background, the seconds keep flowing with the sweep of the hand, life becomes the current and the journey through it a circle of impressions less remembered than imprinted, for the brain cannot maintain the continual activity so what remains is the burned in responses and reactions, the world swirling by only noticed when the light catches a familiar shape or face. everything is reduced to familiarity, the unexpected or unknown encompasses everything else and is unwelcome , home family the wealth of preservance is the foremost, all the remains of a life once hard fought and built with the nails of bone and the glue of blood. and in the dire straights the hardest times, all that is remembered is love, the rest is a blur of self serving faces and places that surrendered nothing served only themselves and lost any meaning for anyone. the destruction of the self leaves little else, for outside of that structure, everything becomes a tool of the divine to both bind and set loose the soul that has no need of anything but is trapped in an illusion of its own creation. what is, becomes the soup of death and the making of the next generations prisons or freedoms. there is no choice but to surrender this life or the next for what is gained for the heart but the feeling of regret or repeated phantoms of desire and distant thoughts of what once meant forlorn happiness, the moments stolen from a life of wages and sin. no one remains untouched but everyone suffers with the coming of the end, seeing all destroyed by its own creator, the spirit seeks some truth, some explanation about all the world is, filled with fictional characters dreaming themselves in a tale that has great meaning but no worth to the soul, this life, all is seen for the false and the truth and the rest just fades away.
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