Avalon

At this hour

Friday, August 26, 2011

I once fashioned myself as a philosopher, and I realised it is harder than I thought. There are no insightful hauls from all those short walks, and the longer ones only end up in sore, with no goal in sight.

My friends make out that I am one who wanders aimlessly around, even after odd hours, until sleep beckons me home-bound. Such genuine perceptions, so original were they, to be making nothing out of nothing, though we all fashioned something, be it a cloud, a puff of smoke, or the rainwater rapidly drained away before it floods. Just like how in between full moons, people complain about the states they see themselves in, while the television welcomes the reception of a new man of the State. All these ought to be strange occurrences but strangely enough, all are readily accepted without much resistance.

At this odd hour, a mere sense of familiarity draws me nearer to my chosen reality, in the form of an everlasting summer, with the memories compiled: a flurry of colours, a series of sounds. The cat's call for the altruistic spirit that brings it food, with its spirits remaining ever unchanged. The wind's break as the falling leaves gathered in a heap, for the last time before leaving on the next flight.

As these thoughts die, new ones shall spring forth, transversing the line of time. Existence has its limits, thought has no end.

Envoy of the Stars @ 12:32 AM
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