THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best.
Night, sleep, and the stars.
Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.
What a life!
So much to seek, so much to unfold, yet what is done - never is. I have learned that our lives intertwine into a convoluted puzzle that never ends. What is today is merely tomorrow’s mess, and tomorrow shall be an illusion of promises – most of which are never kept.
Perhaps I am disenchanted by untold stories and promises broken, alas to realize that this is all there is to this life. Money cures not the pain, rather it adds to the want. Love cures not the pain, rather it warrants the fear of lost. My soul seeks serenity now, only to be disappointed by promises of tomorrow.
So little we believe that we set aside faith for fortune, yet when it is done – it is never enough. Pangs of regrets echoes in the soul, only to be awakened by the fact that time is no longer a friend. So much have been wasted over the toil of material, yet the soul is left hungry and starved for salvation.
Perhaps I am lost not in a maze of confusion, alas it was a foray of choices wrongly taken. Choices taken not for faith, instead for the glory of fame and fortune. Such deprivation of the soul, such travesty of ignorance – while I plead superiority to the simple minded, I rape and pillage the very essence of my conviction.
It is time.
Time to no longer seek, but to accept.
Time to no longer plunder, but to accept.
Time to no longer question, but to accept.
Time to no longer run, but to accept.
It is time to accept that I am nothing but a humble slave. I am a slave, and it is not me that matters – it is what I am a slave to that makes the difference.
So much to seek, so much to unfold, yet what is done - never is. I have learned that our lives intertwine into a convoluted puzzle that never ends. What is today is merely tomorrow’s mess, and tomorrow shall be an illusion of promises – most of which are never kept.
Perhaps I am disenchanted by untold stories and promises broken, alas to realize that this is all there is to this life. Money cures not the pain, rather it adds to the want. Love cures not the pain, rather it warrants the fear of lost. My soul seeks serenity now, only to be disappointed by promises of tomorrow.
So little we believe that we set aside faith for fortune, yet when it is done – it is never enough. Pangs of regrets echoes in the soul, only to be awakened by the fact that time is no longer a friend. So much have been wasted over the toil of material, yet the soul is left hungry and starved for salvation.
Perhaps I am lost not in a maze of confusion, alas it was a foray of choices wrongly taken. Choices taken not for faith, instead for the glory of fame and fortune. Such deprivation of the soul, such travesty of ignorance – while I plead superiority to the simple minded, I rape and pillage the very essence of my conviction.
It is time.
Time to no longer seek, but to accept.
Time to no longer plunder, but to accept.
Time to no longer question, but to accept.
Time to no longer run, but to accept.
It is time to accept that I am nothing but a humble slave. I am a slave, and it is not me that matters – it is what I am a slave to that makes the difference.
