Phaestian 17th, 960 AF

Untitled

Should a fool live his live the way he wants although it amounts to nothing, is that a life well lived or time wasted on nothing? Should time, despair, hatred and unfulfilled hope consume the heart of the once joyful is that sadness or just the cycle of life?

Is it hard to consider that what was once on the mind may linger only there and not in reality? Is it too hard to understand why? Is the world broken or is it just my mind, my heart and my soul. Is my life a riddle or am I just a fool, with too much thought?

When you are alone, your friends, family and mind that once kept you company for so long are lost, never to return are you worth what you thought in the beginning or what you think now? Is there a difference in those thoughts?

Did you ever have friends, family or was it just hope yet again? Time consumes the memory of those who live inside it, the hunger never ceasing in the end. When time comes that you can not hold this in your heart anymore will you fall, will this be the end of they who hoped so much?

Is there joy to be found in the world left so broken and empty by those who came before, is there a place for those who do not belong? How do you know if you do not belong or if your soul is cursed to never be happy or find its place?

The longer you hold onto the hope of what may be the longer you linger in the murkiness that you have created with your mind, ugly and dark, cold and pitiful. It can't be seen, can't be felt, can't be heard, and can't be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, And empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, and kills laughter. Hard it may be harsh it may feel, life is only what you make of it, or maybe not who knows.


What can be stolen, mistaken, or altered, yet never leaves you your entire life?

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Phaestian, in the year 960 AF.