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Why?

Why must everything always turn to dust?

Fleeting fragments always dissipate upon first glance.

Glimmering light; nothing more than an omnipresent,

translucent simulation.

The patterns of life.

One sparkling molecule left suspended in the mist,

forever catapulted through the eternity that is

unified existence.

Left to circulate through every passing perspective for eons to come.

Why then,

can nothing be touched,

nothing be held?

When glowing light is realized and evaporates with the wind,

why are there no raindrops or remnants of what once was?

Where are the coals and ashes, the shadow of once illuminated light?

The embers that once hummed brightly left as nothing more than

smoky memories…

…perhaps it has all been a dream

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There is nothing in this world

quite like diminishing light.

Solid in structure; empty in form.

Many times I have had an inside glance at

figments failing.

I cannot say what takes it; what steals the energy from such a

strong source.

How could it be tainted?

What could cause such sorrow?

I cannot say.

But of all the light surrounding, yours was the last I expected to lose.

When in fact you had illuminated the darkness I have dwelled in before.

You too had seen failing figments, and the havoc that ensued.
You may in fact have been the only one.

Thank you,

for being a light in what was once a cold,

dark world.

Rest easy,

my friend.

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One.

The pink fleshy soles of newborn feet press gently into the freshly found soil beneath them. A deep bellowing sigh bubbles up from within, echoing elsewhere. A quick brisk gasp; fill lungs with pure air, never breathed. Unclouded eyes; clear voids of luminescence. Alas, see again once more. The darkness a thing of memories.

Two.

All it took was a blink of beady eyes and that place of clear being vanished. A faint glimmering spec of dust shining brightly in the hazy mist…how could one resist? As if that breath was never breathed, feet conformed to concrete. Gaze to the sky searching for the echoing place before, climb blindly towards sweet charms of that shimmering light; find home.

Three.

The door slammed shut, waking from the dreamstate. Greyscale skies rain down, hunting for the place once known. Familiar, the dusk; the dust begins to settle. The glimmering light projected upon particles in passing realized as origin. The walls fall down, the construct, dissipated. Again, washed in solitude. Condemned to chase that breath which continues to haunt the days.

It is there,

somewhere.

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Alas,

once more

I hold to my chest the once treasured hymns of a translucent simulation.

As if

the only thing left lingering in briefcase

could be the sorry tunes from a once hidden storm.

Could it be?

Are there no solid structures in form?

Are even photons and subatomic particles mere flickerings of emulated reality?

Is there nothing in experience concrete enough to cherish?

Perhaps,

it is so.

 

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Suture;

Mysterious how puncture and thread may hold closed a gaping wound.

Keep intact tattered flesh,

and halt the flow of crimson tears.

Alas,

temporary relief from shredded vessel,

though nonetheless insufficient.

For when released to natural happenstance,

the mark shall remain.

How so?

May no procedure rid projection of tantalized healing?

Is there no such thing as cure?

Why must every nick turn into an unshakable tainted thought?

Like a place-mark

in the ever flowing path of existence;

each glance a subtle reminder

of pain once endured.

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Cuando veo sus ojos,

veo el mundo.

Siento la luz de la luna,

y el beso del sol poniente.

Tu toque resucita mi cadáver sin vida,

y silencia la oscuridad que reside dentro de mí.

Dime…

¿Cómo es posible que no sepas lo que me haces?

¿No sabes que me derrito en tu abrazo?

Que con cada aliento y mirada que tomes,

Yo trasciende,

convirtiéndome en energías eternas.