Webs of star dust enwrap the weary and the subdued,
of those that have lost hope or wish they had some to look forward to,
of those stumbling over the earth’s obstacles in vain for want of something inhumanely impossibly to attain that which has long been forgotten to weave by human hands for it has grasped the more stolid and sultry materialism as its ultimate pleasure,
and of the many more devoid of Lady Luck’s bounties upon thee for there are many unfortunates I can ponder of and which I am helpless in fathoming their confusion.

What of them? Despite the comfort of radiance, they forget the meaning of that flickering light in their horizon,
to understand, truly,
what it means to be human, to feel
it has been lost,
even if that fine web may suffocate them,
only the peril of finite existence can truly grapple their soul in totality.

Ardour and bliss of consuming visually Nature’s bounties have long since been reduced to decorous eloquence,
the wondrous night skies with its constellations mapping infinities of destines;
of the earth and her planes stretching endlessly as carpets of green,
powdery gold of the sand shifting in its own mixing bowl
and of the roaring oceans that drown the screams of the lands in its calm,
none whatsoever can save a desolate soul least they may themselves see a part of them in the silent life that beats and screams around them.

They’re a fog of confusion, a conglomeration of unnamed thoughts and ideas that warrant recognition and are hopelessly left unknown,
wandering in their haze of misery and curiosity,
without any thought perhaps it isn’t wandering that might be salvation
but merely stillness for it may truly make their ears hone into the song of the world that sings endlessly to its beloved creatures to renew their vigor for a new dawn on its face,
to have the orbs glimpse the dynamic multitudes of the earth and whatever it encompasses perhaps to have one find themselves in the constitutions that breathe and throb around them,
oh what would they not do to see and hear? But they’re hopeless, downcast and disparaging,
for they’ve been blinded by the whispers of masked crusaders plotting their demise
with the ploy proving victorious by every second
unless they deem themselves capable of strangling the ropes of deceit that bind them in their despair,
Only and only then,
can the life around them aid in salvaging them.