Wanderings of Lost Souls

 Still forced to listen to the silent clicks of time-locks, the bouncing enamel pushed out of his forehead, thus he himself is anxious on this collapsed globe. He has become aimless in his wanderings, a wasteful debtor to Existence; Deep, dark is the pit of Fate, if it is necessary to reach that point to find the final redeeming peace. Among the small pebbles, one could still discover a lost, crumbling snail shell, in which treasures of experience have condensed, which have been collected over long decades. 

As if everyone were just whispering into their ears: Take care of yourself, because Tomorrow is unattainable no matter how you try!" - Yesterday's Darius-dream - fear - has long since begun to unravel, it has also awakened in the tiny mirrors of the spiritual eyes - of course - sometimes the self-destructive wilderness. The pettiness of skulking doubters is often more contagious than beneficial. 

Because now, towards the end of the year, the situation is once again such that eye-rollers parade around in fancy halls, scolding themselves as they please, even honoring and celebrating how well they fulfilled the non-existent quota throughout the current year and how well the fancy "bread-making" went. As if everyone is pathetically trying to convince themselves, even to themselves, that there is no and is not possible secret interference between Space-Time; after all, the so-called great hunter and brother is already watching everyone.

 It is often actually a better solution to stay out of double games altogether, as it involves unnecessary, lasting suffering. It would be nice to return to the womb of the first touches, from where we departed.