count on a hundred fists clenched in opposition.
so much effort.
yet nothing can be explained. there is no golden cup that yields our passion for right comings. no hopeful star to bring light into vast fields growing ever darker in the times at hand. there's only thought and the power it wants to have but will never possess.
there is will. an anonymous character inside all of anything. it is what drives anything to be and to continue being. rightfully placed and unmoving, bating the time when the likes are not likely. leading grounds take part in procrastination giving way to inevitability.
we are the children of ourselves.
so much effort.
yet nothing can be explained. there is no golden cup that yields our passion for right comings. no hopeful star to bring light into vast fields growing ever darker in the times at hand. there's only thought and the power it wants to have but will never possess.
there is will. an anonymous character inside all of anything. it is what drives anything to be and to continue being. rightfully placed and unmoving, bating the time when the likes are not likely. leading grounds take part in procrastination giving way to inevitability.
we are the children of ourselves.