The Thirst Of Significance

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Beyond the wild, far and east, a little leaf fell to the floor. Crunched and hunched by many who pass by, the sight of it is negligible. Diminished on the ground by the stampede of souls, after the day the sun never shone again. The very existence of a single soul amidst the millions of crowds of innumerable kinds. Signifying each role and justifying each path, convincing the convinced and pleading others wrath. Each day and every night, a single soul tries. Tries harder. And harder. For what is nothing but a piece of a shattered leaf.

Through winds and storms and disasters last,
Through miles and miles and distances vast,
Far through the lands and oceans and seas,
She looks in his eyes and feels what he sees.

A moment thus captured midst a bunch of clicks. A memory shattered like the stampede of souls. Treading forward to a brightening fantasy, to make believe one’s own existence. Significance. A thirst. Greed. A dream. An astray path to insanity. Doing what is not written. Crossing territories caged by the system. For a chance or a risk to achieve the unattainable. Forgetting what the real soul holds within. The demon it keeps inside. Graved within its walls, confined by materialism.

The monster that roars from under the heavy sheaths of human skin. The force that brings down the highest empires of ego. It is constantly fed. The appetite being all the goodness that exists. Goodness is the opposite of who you are while you believe to be the contrary.

Of all that breaks and is made by man,
Of all that comes to a brutal end,
The loss of morality and values bygone,
Pricked by a needle or an unfaithful thorn.

He sees the reality but it’s far too late. The moments have passed and the mistake’s been made. There’s no turning back since the needles have swung and the time to accept has come. Fooled by voices all around, a flee is taken off the ground. Never to be seen or heard again. The thirst of significance just died in a deadly sin.

Blinded by beauty or the charm of none, the path taken is a deadly one. The road which leads to the lands of filth but is also the most beautiful journey of all. This is the conscience. Understanding of where you stand and where you go. Knowing the road less taken is the road of obstacles but embarking on it to prove to thyself. To prove that life exists on the other side and survival is possible without a fear.

A fear so strong it consumes the soul but the soul never perishes to smile. Smile at its vulnerability. Smile at its pride. Smile as it is taken for a ride. For the soul has not much to do but watch silently; the acts of a lonely mind clouded by the dark. It weeps gently for it knows there was better but that better was not its destiny.

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