Nocturne

How reckless it must seem as the man without a dream.

But is everyone set upon the same path—then why is the outcome so often the aftermath?

I have been lost in a mentality that I will never grow to be free—free from all there is to cage, lept abound the unsightly stage—maybe there I might find an audience to listen to me, but is it so important to me to be seen?

For who regrets all that one has done?—then one hasn’t lived to see it all, for to live steeped in regret is to tumble as it is to fall.

How reckless it must seem as the man without a dream.

He waits for the days to go on by, he wants so much to live but he can’t help but think about dying—he made sure that in his own solitude there would be no denying—his belief that there was nothing out there for him no longer, that his will cannot grow any stronger.

He kept thinking to himself alone: what is a man without a home?, a man with no attachments left to him, what is the purpose in all there is to know? And I say to him when you are lost you are more close to finding the truth, for one who doesn’t struggle will not see so soon all that which is yet to come it is in this way do we find meaning, no one said it is so easy, but once you look deeper now you will see for yourself.