Should we not be able to see, by principle of decay, that all material is an illusion?
Just as the dream fades from your grasp at morning, so too do the elements, by way of decay, fade away from you, ever so slowly; ever so softly; lulling you along; making you reach for more. Trying to fill that hungry void. Unquenchable, because as soon as you have it, it decays. It is death.
When will we realize?
When will we remember?
© 6/1/2016 Jedidiah Fleming
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