In the darkness, whispers hold on long past their dying echo’s final refrain, and here I am with the countless chords of the past surrounding. Alone in the dark, without foundation, this is my eternity, my limbo. The cape of my cloak absorbs me with its folds in this weightless place. Here is no warmth, only cold; no light, but growing shadow; always falling, still never may I land—the end is always gone.
The mind might be a fortress, could with brickwork rebuild this chaos, bricks of thought laid upon each other to sustain, to become ground. Hopeless for the memories like storms, the clashing thunder of which undoes the labor of hours with a flash, a momentary intrusion. No foundation stands.
Banished to this noplace, this infinity, this borderless space, I, sole feature of my prison, search. Some rock must be found unshakable, some part immovable, unstoppable; I need that which travels to the edge of the edgeless, that which secures time’s end, which from nothing creates. For what do I have but crumbling plaster? The sophist’s tongue, weaving lies, cannot speak light into this darkness.
From building my own towers I repent,
since I cannot weave light by which to see.
Another kingdom I will join, my pledge
o’ loyalty not to myself but He.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zP4-tHK1exE
(And this just made me laugh. It’s tangential to the subject.)
Tale Told 