Edward

With perspectives changed and obscurity transparent, and shrouds of light, and darkness made bent, when man ceases to find meaning in petty movements of men, one meets horror in simple places. Imagine: with coffee, in parking lot, I sit all alone with book in hand and the hum of engines all around. To my vexation, I hear the horrid sound: the one that divests the world of humble thoughts, the one of disillusioning, the sound that will take one to death. The terse drumming my ears can barely bear, and, much to my disdain, I am to learn that I am yet to be a saint, for the sound is of my heart and also of my bane.