The sound of Time
It is quiet. My conscience creeps into its dark cave submerging myself in an eerie sea of nerves. Where has the merciless sound gone, the cruel sound of doom ever creeping closer, the callous sound of missed opportunities? Quiet now as my sea is covered by soothing anaesthetics. My senses are my own. Not stolen by light, nor air, nor pressure, nor food, or wave. I belong to myself, unbiased and unopposed.
Rest! The metronome has finally stopped. No impersonal, enslaving, persistent force keeping my way in bounds, postulating precision for harmony. A lifetime ruled by obedience to beats, finally terminated in its very tracks. The fear of being delayed is taken from me. I have until eternity’s end to precise my thoughts, to measure how far the east is from the west. I am able to harness the wisdom gathered over the ages and extract it in thoughts, reaching for true enlightenment. I simply have to attain this state, the possession of complete wisdom arriving synchronous. I am at alpha singularity and at the world’s end, the free spirit of a blue flower roaming the infinity of the universe. Age is no term for me, as is movement or matter. Finally I create my own metronome with my precision and my harmony.
What am I in this void, a ghost of time, enslaved like a marionette by the ruins of a dimension? What is my dream of complete wisdom, but a worthless remnant of my past’s greatest desire? Inapplicable armies of knowledge forced to drill in the shadows of my paths. Realising all my qualities I will hate myself in one or the other way. Madness will slowly creep through my nerves, jumbling the armies through frenzied anarchic cacophony. Causeless I am a lost spirit caught in eternity.
Then the remnants of time take form again. I hear a sudden swelling of sound. First quiet not more than a distant trickle of water drops, then gradually getting louder to a fast stream, a river, a wide current and last the perpetual grinding of the oceans. The...