In my solace of solitude, did I try to comprehend life’s rhythm.
Tunes like whispers, tell tales and fables shrouded in mystery.
Words spoken so vaguely, lacking depth and retold through time.
Whispers echoing through time and beyond, of history reborn.
History trailing paths familiar, rekindling nostalgia.
Nostalgia, echoes of false promises on tilted hope, soon a sickness of desire.
Desires unchecked, cravings unsatisfied, paving way to greed.
A heart yearns endless for more, a soul is devoured through time.
In the end, absence, nothingness, is all there is, but then, the wheel keeps spinning.
Emmalase.
Emmalase