If a world is turned upside down, does a man follow?
Can a man in ascension be lost to us but accompanied by our trust?
If the man follows the path of his world, where does he stop?
When does the world begin to follow in his?
Can the weight of his world be supported by our ignorance to its existence?
At that point does his world really exist at all?
When its all turned around on you, do you ascend before the world?
Or do you supplement the force that restrains it in Fear?
Are you worried that I know you too well?
The ashes of the past long for the fire of the future,
and we are the means that stand between them.
Walls are painted thick between man and God,
but no one is there to guard them.
The galaxies spin before our eyes but their sizes show us no mercy.
Men used to be young, teeming with wisdom and opportunity.
These days boys are old, piling on the ashes.
A thousand years are whispered in a thousand tears
in the hope that we might make them our own.
Each soul on the path to fulfillment, lost in the equilibrium of man and child;
to change lives, or save them. To live to die, or die to live.
Barriers are breached between worry and fear,
but all that has changed is that now they are free.
Seconds, minutes, hours… days… all real, all fearless,
no matter how much we wish they were not.
Bringing us to a point where an end seems evident,
as we find ourselves at the beginning once again.
There are two kinds of people in this space and time:
those who find that all hope is lost to what has brought us here,
and those who realize that we brought ourselves here.
For now, we reside in silence,
and await the one who stands up upon the ashes
to find them both.
We search the path to discover what defines us,
and it is already done along the way.
Love lacks the pure form that it used to hold as the motive of all action,
what bound us together and allowed our place in the sky to be contained.
Time has fallen to become an enemy,
the only thing restraining us from everything we’ve dreamt for
in the form of an impossibility.
We have infinite hope that we will reach this heaven,
blind to the notion that we are already there.
So much of us and what we feel, given away,
as if it has become a burden to hold on to.
But when our opportunity has been exhausted,
the rivers keep flowing,
the leaves stay falling,
the flowers bloom once again. Life proceeds.
But here we rise through the eternal haze,
battered and bruised from head to toe,
our eyes pointed not up, but forward,
unhindered by the smile of the darkness.
Here, we build cities and forge mountains,
expand the horizon and release the light upon the stars,
all under the power of one notion:
Who we watch ourselves become has an end.
But who we are lives on.