They told them the old fable of if your bad then you
will descend to the depths where only torture and flame
will scour your bones. That only madness of constant
sin would be the only voices you would hear over and
over again.

An eternity of your own vocalization mocking every
empathy that saturates from your silhouette but that
was what we were told, what kept us safe in our
singular thought for if the truth was anticipated
then we would never gaze into the darkness again.

The rains they always feel like purity they consecrated
the linear moments. If you looked hard enough they
seemed to fall within a melody of configuration not
as random as one would think. But within this drowning
of surface, one did not notice what was said.

A message hid between the volatility of what was not
conserved and only a few were cognitive to realise what
was perceived. Read between the droplets that hid within
them so many secrets, you just had to capture one in full
form to understand its meaning or it meant nothing at all.

We would pass upon the veil of our existence not knowing
that the unheard voice that we heard were always when the
rains descended never noticing between he translucent that
there were charcoal imprints that fell in haste towards the
statuettes of man frozen in that moment to conceal that blending.

For what we were uttered in belief that what was our ending
was beneath us, but was in fact the plain of existence for which
we tread upon. our being is but a never ending journey that
falls from the confusion of above each of us but a singular
thought that we merge on the living to remedy the mistakes of before.

So when you look at what was a life of regrets and a life of
rights or wrongs, know that we are but droplets of conciseness
that are not reborn but reformed into actions that we descend
upon. We are the actions of others free will to make or to listen
to what we evaporate into their thoughts, right or wrong.