writing Of Man

[Pan the Fabulous Ferret 2,642]

Days and nights to come upon sore hearts of empty lamenting. Upon which, I know of no better reason than that which is the accepted given. And for such an action as the accepting of a basic and impudent fact, that is now my life, I give in to the rudimentary problems which have plagued man for all ages. If it were a matter of choice, the outcome of all things would be changed. Yet, as I look upon the barren fields that burn with the salt of our grievances, I am reminded of the true sordid facts of our existence. Reminded, again, and again, and again.  What will come of us?

 

No problem exists outside of the confines of our minds. Yet manifestations of our fears are shaped into physical spectres, and this, by any given measurement, is our greatest fault.  Do we deserve the recognition of a past and present?

 

I am man amongst man, a cloaked dagger amongst murderous whispers. What makes me different? Is there any reason at all?

 

All I know, is what I have been shown.

 

 

-David Favret