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A Disease Of The Spirit

written by: d2maaa

He sat and wondered at times; he wondered about life and this constant, this persistent, this lingering state of inauspiciousness, this melancholy of madness, this state of total hopelessness; this state of utter darkness.

She saw it in his eyes, the sadness of an eternity; the agony of an entire race; the radiation of darkness; the unfathomable disease; the agony of a man.

Hope was ever so absent in his dark eyes. His hands extended to grasp the light. His mind was empty; yet his soul was full of sorrow and his spirit filled with pain. His eyes were red, tears surged; dry tears were the norms of the soul; the method of redemption, the way in which he empathized with the world and the clan he left behind.

She knew; she had fathomed his notions. She knew; she had seen it all before. She knows and she opts to let go. She opts to leave him in his despair and madness, for she cannot withstand his sorrow; for she cannot withstand the tears, the red tears of a black soul.

He was dark, he was light, and he was an orphan of the times. He saw the world through the white eyes; he understood the world through the wicked mind; his psyche was blank. He was a man of no origins. He was a man of peculiar creed. He was a man of thought and insanity. That was him; thats him in the corner; losing his mind and his religion. He whispered his creed; he conversed with the dead, and confessed his sins to the extraordinary. He was a young man once; aging in his youth. He felt as old as the trees; he sensed as oblivious as the neophyte souls in the cradle.

The sands of time rolled down one by one ever so sequentially. Time moved forward; people moved on and yet he was there. He was stationary. He could neither move forward nor go back. He was just there, stuck in the realm of Parahell. He couldnt fathom the reason; he had no disease; he was not ill; yet in reality, it had been years and years since he last sensed normal. He was ill, for his soul was tainted with thoughts of Her. He had contracted the unfathomable disease; a disease of the Spirit.

The cinders of his soul were scattered all about; all around her presence. He was seared by the brilliance of her panorama. He was left paralyzed; inundated by novel senses. He was sensing sensations previously unknown to him. He was feeling what he had never felt. In reality it was just a transient dream. It was either an enchanting dream in the realm of oblivion; or a ghastly veracity in the realm of reality. Whatever it was; it sensed novel and good. It was too good; for he soon became an addict and craved that sensation evermore. He was now lost in the murky ambience of desires and dreams.

And in reality, one would ponder about the veracity of it all. How hard was it for him to pose the question? How difficult would it have been for him to unearth the right words, to construct a meaningful sentence, to convey the simplest of messages? How arduous could it be? One wonders!

The truth is always simple. For he was a man; an arrogant man; a man with too much pride; a man with too much to lose, or so was his notion.
Too much to LOSE?

One wonders about the reality of that notion. What is there to lose? What is there to gain? What is there to accomplish? What notion cannot be achieved?

Arrogance and pride were his vices; for he was truly oblivious to the reality of his own psyche.

How hard is it to concede defeat?

One considers!

Meanwhile; she was gone; she had trekked to a far away realm; to a region which he could not traverse.

In the end he had lost.

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