untitled

[lostNfound]

A quiet world to a man with all his senses in tact is full of delusions.
The first delusion is that of haste.
Haste is a mirage to all men.
No one man can delude himself from pace, the second delusion.
Pace is a race for all men, cuaght up in a race against their neghbours.
The neighbours, in a race against themselves unknowingly fighting a cause.
A cause, drowned by the man.
Clamped down by their senses, they are deluded by possibilities.
Possibility, known to some as hope, is the third delusion.
And, possibility, lost in the monring fogs forgetful presence.
Hiding from the third delusion.
Ability, a willingto survive. Sped up.
No allowances below the clouds.
The clouds hiding all ability or hope of survival.
Dive. To the depths of the oceans.
Where all is slow and nothing is possible.
Disabled from sense and sensibility.
Bound by rythm and syncronicity.
Here, the senses are awake and full of life.
Calm, capable and more than able.
Open eyes wake the senses beyond sight.
Eyes that see do not miss a beat.
Sweet. Sweet. Lidless Slumber.