--journey to thyself--
Deeply inward I turn, twisting, writhing in agony. The path dips, rises, and dips again, foreward into an abysal unknown. Dark is this path, unknown to me, it is not a path I dared venture before.
The darkness gives way, the path fades into a small clearing. In the center a single weeping red rose. The petals moist with a morning dew. The light cool breaze kisses my face, and dances across the top of the grass, and back into the forboding unknown.
The path begins anew directly in front, darkness encroaching again. Shrowding it's course, masking the destination. Tenatively I step forward, a light dance of hesitation. Something draws me forth, to leave the tranquility beside the weeping red rose.
But foreward I must go, to find that which makes me what I am. I know that down that path answers to all my question wait me. So I move on. A journey never ending, new queries always there. Who am I? What will I be? The final destination awaits me, always out of view.
A journey of futility, of loathing and of wonder. A journey of unimportance? Nay, a journey of destiny. Reaching the destination is the end of who I am, sadness fills me as I draw ever closer. At last realization takes over me, this journey is just that. It is not about the end, rather about the travel itself. With each step changes the final resting place, bending my reality into something new.
Deeply inward I turn, twisting, writhing in agony. The path dips, rises, and dips again, foreward into an abysal unknown. Dark is this path, unknown to me, it is not a path I dared venture before.
The darkness gives way, the path fades into a small clearing. In the center a single weeping red rose. The petals moist with a morning dew. The light cool breaze kisses my face, and dances across the top of the grass, and back into the forboding unknown.
The path begins anew directly in front, darkness encroaching again. Shrowding it's course, masking the destination. Tenatively I step forward, a light dance of hesitation. Something draws me forth, to leave the tranquility beside the weeping red rose.
But foreward I must go, to find that which makes me what I am. I know that down that path answers to all my question wait me. So I move on. A journey never ending, new queries always there. Who am I? What will I be? The final destination awaits me, always out of view.
A journey of futility, of loathing and of wonder. A journey of unimportance? Nay, a journey of destiny. Reaching the destination is the end of who I am, sadness fills me as I draw ever closer. At last realization takes over me, this journey is just that. It is not about the end, rather about the travel itself. With each step changes the final resting place, bending my reality into something new.
sarcasticmenace:
Very nice. 