Ensconced in solitude,
I ponder of what will unshackle,
Any matter of euphoria,
Left of me in the forthcoming

Within I feel as vacant,
As the endless skies filled with nothing
As I am endless once again.

The anima I hold behind my visible being,
Behind everything knowledgeable to anyone else,
Cries out and reaches for a saving from a falling,
A falling from grace.

I pause everything of me
'Till the chronology of me is truly present
*Yet I hope I don't start living yet