WriteByte

I run,

Jogging, flying into nothingness.

Nothingness into eternity,

Into the clear.

The clear that’s been penetrated by the unclean,

The clean has been invaded.

Those memories that were one,

Memories, they were once true.

True memories they were.

They have gone.

All the true.

Nothing is new, it’s all old and faded.

Faded it is, but non-existent it is not.

It’s still here. Its here. It’s waiting.

Playing, dancing,  stripping life,

While taking souls of the past,

They venture into the future.

Thick with dark soil burning.

Soil is burning.

The heart is murmuring something unkind,

Something real,

While all the while being as fake as the earth on designated stilts.

Tossed through air,

Flung through crowds of glory.

Crowds of glory.

Glory has risen from deep below.

A place of great mourning and peril.

The sun has a brother,

The moon has it’s sister.

She stands there all glowing and yellow.

Tricking the eyes of the innocent,

Glazing over the lenses of the blissfully unaware.

Sitting there, shaped like.

Like.

Shaped like.

A half moon, a tainted whole.

A piece bitten out and swallowed never to be replaced.

Like a missing part of the puzzle.

The puzzle.

It’s a puzzle.

Don’t believe it, it’s not true.

Forget.

Forgive.

It’s all untrue.