the cry of the dying ember

I lay crumpled, the innards of my soul ripped apart and strewn upon the dusty floor of memory lane. I wish I could curl up and become a child, an embryo and finally nothing. A nothingness that would be blissful.

I am like a yacht at sea, with its sails blown away. There is no drive but the shore is nowhere near and all I can do is let the ripples carry me on. The will to live is negligible but life will go on, uncaring and without stop. The sail might get patched with help from people around me, but until it does life will be a drag, weighed down by the cruelty that fate has chosen to shower.

I cringe at the hate that the world holds and the manipulation of fate. I have been singed by the fire of ignorance and burnt at the pyre of stubbornness. I have been murdered in the name of tradition, with the archaic dagger of division. My destiny has been taken away from me. Not because I didn't try. Not because I didn't crave it. It was taken away and crushed because the universe conspired against it.

It's not the world that is impure, it is not fate that's impure. It is the people that perceive the impurity and bring it into being. More's utopia is just a vision, an untouchable seductress who always shimmers tantalizingly ahead of us. What would happen to Utopia in the cradle of ignorance? Would Utopia be smothered into submission? Submission to the set view that we have made of the world.

I wish it were easier to walk away from everything. I wish it were easier to get up after the fall and limp back to normality.

What do I do when meanings dissolve into falsehood? What do I do when everything I thought life to be becomes an illusion? An illusion that has destroyed the fine mirrors of my past. An illusion that has erased what I am and what I have become. I am now undefined and unconsumed. I am left to redefine and to re-establish my spirit in this teeming world.

P.S: Ignore the relevance of the title

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