Beneath the White Fallen Ash Flakes.

I wake in the never-ending bliss of wind and rain, Covering the echoes of footsteps that were once my own. Drinking in the pleasures of life and love that could have been fate. But in reality, these feelings were a condensed version of the madness shown. Different pains in life and turmoil engages The hand that mystifies any known territory. Basking in the shallow pool of murky truth Only to gaze into the sun of a thousand convents; An observatory of truth in the midst of dishonesty. How does one come to grip with the existence of a shadowed flaw? Where does it say that mind over matter becomes irrelevant? Why does the process of knowledge burn and slow? Beat in the never hood of trans fixation, And fall beneath the seas at stake. Wash the tears of the forgotten struggle And lay down beneath the white, fallen ash flakes. A dawn filled with red skies has only one certain future Of trials and revolution of the highest level, first seeking the reason Behind a foreign entity. The lines behind existence and reality become blurred torture For reasons unknown. When will the argument cease to prove a point In a world surrounded by a deviant stubbornness?