A Stellar Maybe.

Like ink running off the neck of a feather,

He draws upon a shaky conclusion as he trembles to get his thoughts right,

A conclusion he does not love.

But one he remains firm on, as firm as the lone leader of a pack of wolves howling into the night, standing at the edge of a crevice so deep,depth deserved a new definition;

"Why is the world just a shallow earthen pot of half sun-baked black dahlias, rather than one filled with a bountiful bloom of a psychedelic display of colors emanated by the brightest of the bright magnolias?

Why is it always a true story that when every man, woman or child you know,looks at you as if you had uttered sheerly the most blasphemous of blasphemous phrases ever to be phrased when you had indeed voiced out a mere fabric of your brilliantly complex nervetree of ground breaking thoughts?

Why is the population of the very planet You grew up on,just a mere mass army of monotonously idle media-driven group of single minded individuals, who dared to explore their vastly complex storehouses of unborn ideas only as much as blind armies of wounded men would, when they barely scraped the surfaces of hostile castles with their drawn swords erstwhile failing to realize the castles even existed?

Why is it virtually a sin to wander unto yourself and discover the true reason for your pitiful existence on this planet, while it is something worthy of applause on a grand scale when one carries out an act that just cements the ideology that every mind must follow a specified path into a dark void of linear oblivion when there are actually a countless number of roads you could take to actually explore your own mind and free yourself from the binding chains of Stigma?

Why is it Wrong to be random and spiral out of yourself to explore metaphysical depths untold of, while it is Right to be a typically traditional God fearing individual drowned in theological lies driven into him like nails by the hammers that the Elders in his Family possessed?

Why did the sacred art of Love involve two plastic souls pretending to the world that they were indeed One and the Same by engaging in fake acts and speaking out mindlessly artificial phrases lacking in Heart, all the while massacring and mutating beyond comprehension, the true meaning of what the word Love actually represented? "

The answer would never come to him, he concluded.

Struck his heart like a poisoned arrow it did, that Change was not possible.

He would have to live on.

Live on.

Live on.

Live on, and yet not daring to Live as Living was meant to be Lived.

Not for one moment, daring to step out of the circle of fire drawn around him by the rest of the mindless souls marching on towards the End.

Not for one moment, daring to hope that someday, he might just find that one person to complete him and shine Light upon his thoughts.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Ah, the travesties of an unsatisfied incomplete man, he thought.

It was all part of the game of Life. No strings attached, but no spiral staircases into the unknown either.

* Soft music in the distance*

A discontent sigh of a man shaken by his own conclusions,

as he turns to a mirror and looks into his own eyes, thinking

'Maybe it is not meant to be.

Maybe I am not meant to reach out.

Maybe I am not meant to step beyond the invisible boundaries I couldn't cross.

Maybe I am meant to walk on an already trodden path towards a Dead End I would never see. And maybe, just maybe, my thoughts weren't meant to cross a Human mind. '

Is that not a sad sight to see, my friend?

Because, I will tell you, maybe that man is Me.