Apathy; The Muted Chaperone

Hibernation looks to be not the sole province of lower mammals. 

A boon to larger beings with a weakness for the over-indulgent. So imprisoned by the seasonal, the financial, and the intangible guiles of persona.

Dormant; locked away from all, in the company of innermost thought. A mind free to wander into darkened recesses not oft explored. So thus, an accidental day; without speech or interaction of outer humanity.

Hours dull; no spark, a lackluster scene. Yet not without dutiful movement through the ceaseless procession of tasks. Lined up like gaunt destitutes, each awaiting their turn; Queue jumping forbidden.

A languid mire with allure hard defined; but nor indeed a lazy recline.

Moreover, an idea that behavior as this can be allowed. Which in itself marks a change from previous lives lived. However, this comes but not without risk.

The steady chipping away at the edifice of reason, leaving no visible scars for the passerby. Incomprehensible damage, apparent nevertheless.

Dwindling resources soon broker a break from this spire of isolation. For sustenance will better rule than procrastination.

Dim Equinox

The insipid yet drowsy bleakness of mid-week...

As I wander, all about seems lacking. Each colour deprived of its hue and vibrancy; Natural tone substituted by shades of expressionless grey.

Is this coincidence? That so discernable a variation thus complements my mood.

Or am I responsible for rendering so dulled a piece?

A raven set aloft within a leafless tree, cries out in consensus. As though it had perceived my mind and sought to allot blame firmly in my quarter.

Adversity stalks close behind me, never permiting a moments peace; while denegrating hope. Furthermore buffed up by a slew of victories, his form looms large and besets with a new found mischief. Endowing small acts of frustration into an already arduous day.

All is mediocre. Even the light and warmth of the sun seem inappropriate. Likened to an awkward guest attempting acknowledgement, but shying away in the final moment behind the growing gloom.

Be that as it may, scant words spoken have enabled a surge of thought. A rekindled hunt for resolution through dark forests of doubt. Distinctly marked routes only brook a compromised exit, and may surrender too many gains of the journey already trodden. 

So onward through the tangled undergrowth of mis-convention. Hacking my own way forward.

Motherland

Motherland by The Bones Compendium

So Turns The Wheel

A token ailment still plagues the body and mind...

The former; solely a companion to prolonged lack of rest. The latter; a far more difficult adversary to better with compromised resources.

For it is creeping paranoia that once again raises it frightful countenance. That if left unchecked would seep into the heart of so nourishing a union.

Nonetheless; I take faith from the fullness of affection so liberally bestowed, and thus hope to be in the future more secured. Yet for now the cogs of reason remain connected allowing a kind of stability which is known to me. 

That being said; every moment differs in temperament, conventions of one time seldom fit another. Like the beating heart of a beast; ever changing in rhythm and vigour, never to cease or the owner will fall.

The flow must remain uninterrupted, and by consequence the minor fluctuations of luck and circumstance; less of a danger. Moreover, they are unlikely to affect the greater whole; Instead becoming a motivation to proceed.

The art of survival tightly wrapped in the silky threads of perpetual motion.

Qualms And Trepidation

A sidewards glance of unease...

Faint wisps of discord momentarily witnessed; unbeknownst before this time. On the slightest of whims a sudden salient of misgiving born into existence. 

To yield without question would therefore sanction this foray into unfriendly territory. The past given permission to intrude on present.

Events, meteoric in their inception, had little option but to gradually descend. This need not be an unravelling, but a manoeuvre to a new vantage point. From which a fresh perspective is given, a greater bond forged. 

For this notion revealed possibility of what lays in the wasteland beyond; something I neither seek or could stand to bare. 

Love, like the season, changes; but ever does persist. Thus that these latter days of contentment shall go on unabridged. 

A Superstition Of Misbelief

The conflict between belief and doubtfulness...

A manner so fervent and engulfing to be seen by some as mere masquerade. The deliberate distraction of ego; an unwelcome parody or the intractable disposition of an untoward rebellious spirit. The latter being of a living principle; employed as a valued vehicle of momentum, without which indecision would be ever present. 

Alas, it is too late; the gate opened, and the spectre given entry. Now the toxicity of doubt spreads viral through the pierced aperture of a moments lapse in composure.

Words that shine on a shadowed corner; which came from a place of kindness not malice and as such deserve to be heeded. 

I hold aloft this fruitful bounty of sublime reason, as if to perceive its truth. Against the light, its translucence only reveals a hint of the wisdom within.

Nevertheless, even the volume of my own will could not dull the glare of its judgement. Deftly working its way on a course deep into my inner sense.

Yet it is a thought I am intimately acquainted with; a most highly esteemed paranoia, long since buried, now resurrected. 

So it may be that refashioning of outwardness is needed. My only disinclination being: Could I stand to part with the extraneous parts of my character? The question of a backwards fall into the abyss of past behaviour, a haunting epitaph at this crossroads. 

Fall

Fall by The Bones Compendium