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TIMELESS by Xanphre, literature
Literature
TIMELESS
I don't understand, Universe
The things you do
Is it always me?
Or do you have something to do with it too?
I try to understand
That love isn't transactional
It just is.
So forgive me my ignorance
Does there always have to be
So much goddamned pain?
And does every day essentially have to be the same
With so much needless suffering
With so much confusion
So much doubt?
If love isn't transactional
Why do I always feel that I have to shout
Get so angry, so enraged?
Like a man that is unable
to do anything
Like a prisoner, trapped in a cage
The centerpiece in this carnival
With nothing left to say
Feel
Pray, or think
I have a suspicion
That I will never truly know you
And it's times like this
When I don't think I ever want to
My understanding of love seems to be
So diverse from yours
When I don't see any rhyme or reason
I'm reminded of the cold bars surrounding
My prison
And yet
I believe that I committed no crime
But to live
Sometimes never knowing, never even understanding
Why I
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![[Closed] Auction Adoptable#079](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/b0864125-08c8-4416-94d5-f8bd2c29c253/di2lddi-45d54fdb-2aee-4284-a288-745d90f4de54.png/v1/fill/w_372,h_350,q_70,strp/_closed__auction_adoptable_079_by_nuray_lynn_di2lddi-350t.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTUwNiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2IwODY0MTI1LTA4YzgtNDQxNi05NGQ1LWY4YmQyYzI5YzI1M1wvZGkybGRkaS00NWQ1NGZkYi0yYWVlLTQyODQtYTI4OC03NDVkOTBmNGRlNTQucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTE2MDAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ._5xzoYjXe5fg9ylRbkGYN73TvC_LWi9G5okxYo2WPV0)
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Epilogue: ...Dreams in their Empty House by BBV79, literature
Literature
Epilogue: ...Dreams in their Empty House
The sea stretched out far into the seemingly endless expanse, a desolate expanse of blackness and somber, calm yet pristine waves. Even as the murky protoplasmic waters seemed to move, strange pebbles stirred the pristine surface, it remained devoid of even the faintest of whispers. There was no breath of life, no gust of wind, only a cold stillness that pervaded every inch of this desolate existence on which the dark traveler stood unmoving in his shapeless dark robes and dim red stola.
Above him the empty sky imitated the utter desolation where infinite possibilities reformulated themselves shone down its black light as the strange stars arose over the horizon. Before him, gargantuan edifices arose keeping the queer peace of the waters and the air; no drops cascading on its spires twisting into themselves, leaning east and west, burrowing south and north in maddening courses.
Some rose beyond the threshold of the primordial ocean bereft of life, thriving with an existence
