The sense of everlastingness is achieved in a moment when the eyes are shut.
Yet clenching the wolf's teeth won't deliver from peril.
Just as deliverance cannot ensue from a desolate and callous occurrence.
Every movement resembles gradually a tenuous chore for those still bereft of sleep.
The most inexorable paradox cannot obnubilate enough the void of deception.
Inasmuch as certainty eludes us, there's grace even in the nethermost suffering.
Its beauty lies in us, its beauty lies to us all.
In a world slain by fallacy, sympathizing with the executioner becomes a virtue for the castaway.
For eons, the portent of the last throe has warted the cores before our grand emergence.
