Upon the moons gaze is the overwhelming sensation of Our being as miniscule, we but a small resistance to an ocean of possibilities when the current decides to pulls.
I am nothing more but a grain in the palm of my own hand, amongst billions of more grains compressed to form the land where I stand.
My form is in constant fluidity of changing into my next form.
I lived and died fully knowing my outcomes the moment myself was born.
Knowledge aquired is only harmful to the wise when not used,
Information that is suppressed in order to keep the uninformed abused.
The supposed successful treat the young successors with conditions and ploys, the youthful heart sinks into an emotionless despair that's distant and void.
An uneasiness strings along the heart with doubt,
Stringed along belittling our very understanding until our pride has run out.
Not until the without scream and shout do we consider their pain,
Pain of desperation while in a role for the vile and powerful to remain.
They have stained the souls of equally born men subjected to circumstance. Only later do the people learn that all of that pain was accordingly part of the plan.
