The natural light behooves the artificial, my stomach is well filled and my lips wet, the melodies I love play and the thoughts hum quietly a medley all of theirs own as I sit here considering it all.
A conflict rages within me, thought and counter- thought strike routinely and without consideration nor respite lest one of these equally matched opponents should rise to inequality and conquest.
I walk carefully in the misty battlefield, wary of the mines below the surface, that if disturbed, shall without prejudice render the disturber a casualty of this civil war.
I turn from the screeches now, to sink into reminiscence, of the island, and of seasons past who leave only their songs to cling to. I dare not return to the island, no longer does it behoove my gaze, but i prey for a change in the season to clear this fog and render my vision clear once again.
And now i retire to dream of that which I desire but can’t yet grasp.