The epilogue, NOT.

This is the year of when,
illusion is met upon thy self.
At abyss point,
thee stalks of my shadow,
makers of artifice,
until to knife point.

Surprisingly of gorge,
swam of purest haziness,
in thy hazy seas of clouds,
chasing after a blight of light,
amongst the clums of surrounding darkness,
a golden compass that leads,
only to find that,
after all it was a misleading direction,
blinded by the enthuastic of thyself,
only to fall upon agonising trance,
by the very grips of the slyness in mother nature
in casting upon thyself.

---------------------------

At the peak of lost hopes,
came the emergences of water and fire,
nothing but in oblique to acknowledgement
upon alliance and enemies for such elements.
As calumniation and backbitting is never an oblige,
yet for a cause.
It is after all a plague neither shalt escape.

In obligement of aboveness takes the heavy
compensation of time,
at akin times,
comes the perhaps peaceness in ones souls,
afterall, it takes one to fall to notice
the enlightment of
once known of fouling object.
May such beauty lies unchanged.

Out break of epic Epinephrine,
embrace it!!!