~My own thoughts~
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Lost in the shadows of hopelessness.
Is there some meaning to this life?
What purpose lies behind the strife?
Whence so we come, where are we bound?
These cold questions echo and resound
through each day, each lonley night.
We long to find the splendid light
that cast a revelatory beam
upon the meaning of the human dream.
-THE BOOK OF COUNTED SORROWS
In the midist of wandering a world full of confusion, it
becomes easy for one to lose one's self. It's even easier
to lose your sence of drive, sence of ambition. I stand
before myself in a cold daze, looking upon my life, the
mistakes, the pain i have caused the souls of others. As i
reflect, somehow the torment and agony I lay upon those in
the past, suddenly transverse to me. Unable to focus on
the positive, I wallow in this selfish sorrow and allow it
to tear into the very core of my being. Like a vengeful
force, it is not kind, nor compassionate. Fueled on spite,
grief, and pain, it slowly corrupts the mind and destroys
the soul. The soul is the core of our being (for it
carries the load of our heart) and one can not live
My mind lays in a lunatic calm, a focused, driven form of
insanity. Pulsive at any moment, I live my life to a
slight degree. Secluded, drawn back, and protected, all
meaning worthless to me, I sit and wallow in the petty
guilts of a meaningless life. I pray for the end. I
One must conceive a purpose, that purpose must include a
drive, and the drive must include a will. By way of a
miracle, I have been saved.
Grey turns to light.
Illness turns to inspiration.