بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

how i love the clouds and the rain, even if it's gray, love it too when the sun's out and shining, turning brightness into something tangible, open and abiding, at least for that moment. my journey through this life is like the trek of the seasons, across the surface of the earth, whether over sand or desert or ocean, it leaves its imprints on my being, this passage of time and all it beckons and denies of needs and whims, sometimes feeling lost, at others a bit frozen, echoes of beauty reach me like fall with its leaves, such color and change, trying to remind that nothing stays quite the same, but here i am, to such laws of nature a walking contradiction, though remaining not static, i try preserving what's 'me' through all the thick and thin. love and you, an effortless combination, as yet a pair only imagined of time in which i can hold them, this road it has its mimicry and attempts at simulation, but i wouldn't compare them with an ideal manifested long before reality could try its fangs at setting in. 

i oft speak of prices and whom must them be giving, namely myself, thinking a foregone conclusion that i would pay them, whether or not i was able, even if such cost would steal sanity and empty pockets of everything except that which puts some in asylums. will my strength suffice? could i again survive, the epochs of apartness, filling the distance between you and i? am i able to give to my Gift, for so long as i live, regardless if nothing of compare i find? questions i cannot answer, residing somewhere in the mind, these neighbors mine, as part of faith it's said, to be towards such at least as kind. 

i have not spoken of my Rabb, have not yet here sought His aid, it's been some time, since disillusion struck, and from Him i felt parted a bit of ways.  as i am now is scarce a shell, to what "i" can truly hold, so much i know is there to be felt, when one has cause for feeling whole. i also know, He will test my belief, that it will be more than a thing simply said, that somehow action must follow words, or have proven hollow all that is my being. for now, i endure the absence, stroll alongside this worldly path and its worldly essence, working and reading, forging an image of a body complete with flesh and bone, but of its inner few can tell how shallow rings its meaning.