Friday, April 01, 2011

the loss and the stops

it begins at the end. as it were to be a story about love. although, it was the contrary. a story of a cliched epic where nothing happens or everything happens. in modern times popularly dubbed as clusterfuck. where it stops, is the rare motion.

they were exception. a phenomena of the ages. made in light, forged in time and intensified by the mythical elixir of life, love and faith. they were fearful to proclaim the sense that were made sensible when time came. time stood still at that moment on the hill. for them to progress and transgress the motion that came to a stand in notion. where it ceased to exist. where invisible seemed to envelope the probable. it made everything at peace behind an armor of self-importance.

nothing, is where it stops. it was curated by a luminary of the highest degree. the author of every mortals demise. The premise is there to be savored. all the while in endearment. it stops even the flowing river. even the flow of words. shouted, whispered or sung. they were hushed to complete obscurity. never heard and unheard of through the ages.

cataclysm hits, where it stops. sense is not the sensibilities they pursue anymore. sense is the descending ascension of reality itself. it differs at times, but at the root it is the same. the identical motion, that perennially move in a manner so inconclusive, the universe seem to be limited.

there they were, to stay for all time. to sway at all times. to say until the end of time. but that is where they stop. where it stops.

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