As time itself came to pass, the sun stretched across the sky, signaling for its surrender due to time, I pondered and pondered. One –one question stood as the sun made peace by letting night come. The day seems so short while the night grows long and endless. As far as time could stretch its shadow to the world, the world could not cast a shadow upon itself. Time alone cannot find the answer I seek. No, not even time can answer with all the wisdom it could ever have within its greatest possessions.
Souls that shriek through the empty, dead void of night moonlight or not, have created shrieks that demonically echo in the unmoved, vast emptiness. Days of life are only so temporary with no necessity. But, as I present the mourning of the screams of the deceased, death is forever. Death is the necessity that will last forever. Cry, shriek, and demonically curse life you carriers of pain and emptiness, but all you may do is suffer and wallow as you dawdle by your grave, spats of your once living blood that you now toss aside, and now you forever “live” by your grave, in pain, for eternity.
Time, answer me if you can. Why must the golden, crystalline hours come and go? For once, when we truly gain them, they disappear. Only these hours are hours, yet the days of shadowy misery are for eternity. We grasp our best hour and then it is taken away from us. These hours are only hours –short-lived. Misery and agony are eternity.
The day only lasts so long before it subsides to make night. The day –the golden, crystalline hours –subsides to make night –eternity. When one’s golden hours subsides to agony for eternity, the sun rises elsewhere to create more hours of gold. As old as time may be, time cannot appease one without agonizing another. Time, why do we have our golden hours to have them forcibly pried from our unwilling hands and force us to swallow, with unwilling throat, the anguish and agony that shall be walked, as a heavy load over our shoulders, for eternity?
Forever the demonic, empty, hexed bellowing of the mournful cause us to walk forever in the bitterly chilling wasteland we will forever know as eternity. The golden hours are only hours while agony is eternity. These souls, that cry a painful bellow, spat upon their tombstones with what was once their living blood, to damn the hours of gold. Forever they long for these hours, yet they cry and bleed with pain and anguish. They forever dawdle in pity and hatred over their graves, with torture drenched with mortal, agonized blood, what we know as eternity.
Time –you have not yet answered. Curse the golden hours with all hatred all may possess! They are too short and insignificant in the eyes of the fiery, painful resin that trapped us for eternity. Eternity after those hours we are left with the undying, yearning desire that settles in the pit of our soul cores. Curse the hours and damn them to hell for eternity!