Illumination always subjugates darkness, whose essence is the absence of it – so conversely conscience, in its turn, to fright. Lack of consciousness – the mute devil of the unconscious – is easily quashed by the candle that burns throughout the night. Echoing screams will fade like the tragedy of regret. That torment will soon be easy enough to forget. Those streaming memories of weakness are never the whole… only when left unattended to will they ever consume your soul. A net is always supported by two poles. Not polar opposites, but the endearment of a true friend. Standing apposites, side by side until the very, very end. Thoughts conjured at times of the end of days, the scars ran so deep… but nay, my friend, now is not yet my time for eternal sleep. Without clarity, the ink runs dry, runs out of sense, out of reason… every time you got high. Precisely there she stands, waving her fans to the flame… throwing it all down the drain, moving forth to continue adding to the human stain. Along that path, a funny thing… those circles of hope, of desire, pure passion – the glance at the ring… visions now conjured, music in the air – so vitreous, so humble, the Muses began to sing. The thought of it alone – such wonder at their song – notes undulating and twisting about the summer night’s air, past illusions fade into the grey… leaving no more of the memories, none of the despair. There were no more screams, no more madness, nothing left of that sordid fray. Thus blazed the path forward, and quite so clear… thus I spoke, finally, anew – there was nothing left to fear.
Ex Umbris, Ad Lucem
Tool - Parabol