wisdom in time

Writing

Time passes: within each consecutive moment that is passed a murmur of sanity is lost from the back paths of my mind. Time passes constantly; I speculate my mental clarity through the nocturnal hours of the passing days. The mayhem that spreads through my veins, the shielding that wraps away my flesh and bone: time breathes a breath of life into my limbs but my mind is intoxicated with gentle whispers that could be compared to the touch of a newborns grip unto its father’s finger. The passing of time rots the body and builds the mind. What becomes of wise men that lose their physical functions yet hold the wisdoms that have been forsaken by generations of the cursed teens and adolescent?  What becomes of the words that can’t move past their chapped broken lips? The words that crawled across the tongues of the wise were meant give light to endangered youth are now lost in the cosmic dusts that their souls elevate to as their bodies decompose. Yet our eyes only see the past. Our hearts only love the fictitious presences that once were.  Our minds are closed to the wisdom that was lost, or don’t believe that it even existed. I’ve been running every day to escape the world where wisdom is lost and discover a world where there are others like me who will seek the wisdom hidden in the cosmic streams and minds of the enlightened elders that we deny time too. We allow time to devour their bodies before we lend our ear. In lieu of wisdom we chase vain, preposterous things that will never appease the minds hunger.

I hope to die young, I’ll beat time, I’ll spread wisdom before I am too perish, I’ll save the ignorant and daft and dumb. Without a leader everyone simply follows each other’s mistakes. Truth shapes the mind, and the illicit activities that we indulge in shape the body. All the while time ticks and we age progressively.

I am, hopeful for the wisdom that I shall let escape from my lips into the waxed over ear canals of the youth. I am hopeful indeed. No hopeful at best. The walls that barricade my mind are treated with colorful anecdotes that disguise lies. I procrastinate upon my usage of time. I hesitate on the thoughts of the dark days ahead. I’ve grown older; I’ve grown closer to the end of the constant ticking of time.  I don’t fear my hesitant thoughts, I don’t fear the days ahead. I fear that I will grow old. I fear that the wisdom I’ve attained, the words I am able to share will be lost before they touch another being.

I’m frightened for the wisdom to be lost, the young and wild won’t chase it or search for it.

That is why I am afraid.

 

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