- in the name of Allah -


how empty are lives full of only echoes? times gone by and history books written ages ago, left no records of the soul that might teach one how to grow. stagnation is the beck and call of my day, forever listless, while thunderous ambitions of air reach for stars seemingly no longer there. there is no road behind me, but no path ahead; I could forge it as I go, but would that be enough for me instead? as life goes on, or its semblance thereof, I wonder if its worth it all: the journey, the end, the toil, the shackles of ourselves. I reach amongst the phantoms, seeking substance to fill a void; of course the impossibilities stare back at me, amazed at how insane I seem. I 'know' the answers, I have 'heard' of remedies, but are these tales enough to solve the issue that is me?

- unfinished -