Internal flames sustain the charring coals of misery.

Heat so intense,
the molten source of such bewitchery seems contradictory.

As time ends the landscape bends.
Seeps.
Melts.
No hope for new discovery.

Personal freedom and liberty are now things of history.

Ideas and dreams stuck in protohistory,
nothing left,
zero energy,
abstinence of synergy.

Death. The bittersweet valedictory.
Lost ideas of mystery. The mystery that
only the silent soul can hold the final sole victory too.