To not feel at all is a paradise in parallel to this everlasting experience of inexplicable emptiness.
To achieve, realize, and come to peace with oneself seems sufficient enough for a fix of bliss, but alas, he is abnormal.
Words jump and dance within his dome of knowledge, yearning for acceptance to bless the empty page he condecends - a vain attempt for recognition amidst the ocean of wretchedness drowning his intellect.
Regardless, he finely selects saviors to ensure the expulsion of evil essences edging his creative capacity.
He wakes day after day only to long for a feeling of being, of belonging - of assurance that, somehow, the emptiness will fade.
Is it loneliness? A longing to be loved? Or has he cursed himself to walk a path of persistent melancholy?
Does he yearn for spiritual fulfillment or does he desire a physical manifestation of wanting?
As they are listed, they all have merit, but within his hollow being lies a far more complex need of fulfillment.
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Edge Of All That Is Known
PoetryWelcome to the Edge, a pocket of infinite possibilities and limitless imagination. No matter your vocation, your tastes or inclinations, within this universe you shall find everything that you seek, and beyond. The Edge is the journey of one man o...
