Apparitions of the Mind - Memories Past, Here, In Memories Present

From time, to time, a person feels nothing. Nothing ultimately becomes nothing. All becomes nothing. And you are but shadows and dust,

moving through the spectral prism of light, alone, wandering amongst the projected image of a society whose semblance of life

come from its very real unreality.

Verily, How many broken souls there are lost to time, forgotten, littered throughout space? Neither beginning, nor end. Stories,

left unsaid, unheard, beyond the century of yesteryear. It seems.

Not even the dignity of a grave given for remembrance, a stone which bears their names. Voices neither remembered nor heard,

buried beneath a metaphorical shadow? Exploits reduced to irrelevance for sake of posterity, for memory. Listen enough: one could swear,

they are, still there. Faint echoes of stories of forgotten statistics

never known. Or, just perhaps: a conscience in fact succumbed to one's own inner voices of doubt, fear; those faint whispers one hears,

drawing a confused conscience into its orbit. Through persuasion, listen enough, a sane person will certainly become lost. That perennial

question: who am I, drowned by a cacophony of noise, manifest and conjured appearance? To thusly Let the bones and flesh, dust, take you where-wither,

and rouse the spirit through the sacrifice of blood and flesh.

TO run towards death, speedily, with vigor; to die saying: I am, simply, is a gift, whilst to never forget, to respect, the voices of the dead.

To go is to be gone. All things eventually depart. How fortunate to lose one's name, to relinquish

one's identity, and simply exist: Not as the sum total of cumulative experiences ensuing from socially enforced and mediated roles according to socially mandated role.

Just to pass, simply, as THE unknown, just existing in, departing from, space.