Promise me this
Neon Gravestones — twenty one pilots
If I lose to myself
You won’t mourn a day
And you’ll move on to someone else.
The advancing assault continues in a cyclical fashion. The suffocating surge of self has advanced to it’s maximum depth. The oscillating orbit of this soul sounding satellite has reached it’s peak and now it is time to withdraw. These earthen banks gleam with fresh beginnings as they disgorge their retreating rival. The tears being left behind do not belong to the new found beaches that burgeon forth; being evaporated into a mist which no one misses.
Ecclesiastes 3:7
What was once void of surface life now enjoys the company of countless lives. Their dreams and aspirations as numerous as the grains of sand that hold them up. Homes of heart are built with foundations being laid deep into this land; cornerstones that shape the landscape into communities. Erecting a visage that has forgotten the torment which flowed here not so long ago. The resounding reason being the faith that this time the pendulum will not perpetuate its period.