Ches. Feles Posted September 30, 2016 Share Posted September 30, 2016 The Pursuit of Fantasy Tuesday, August 9, 2016 8:52 PM Standing among a grove of withering trees Pink petals steadily drift down, fading into black sakura Much like this bleak world they darken and decompose A faintly sweet carpet of rot and dying dreams Crumbling much like dead leaves under foot with a sickening crunch As single light shines in the setting dusk Being smothered, not by the darkness of the coming night But by a man who cannot vision the world beyond the one he sees A simple perfect world of indulgent wishes Nothing more than self-fulfilling lies Tormented by his own prideful natural which cannot be sated For the more it is, the more it needs to sustain itself Only for him to in the end, realize the futility of his work For every goal reached and tower built in the end is meaningless Ash to ash and dust to dust; It was written so, was it not? Nothing but ash and dust among the pages of history. The pages themselves will be torn out, misplaced The books long since filled with things of "worth" will rot and fall apart lost to time Consumed by the changing tides of what we call "old age" Leaving a withered husk some may even call a lie Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MadameX Posted September 30, 2016 Share Posted September 30, 2016 This.is.good. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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