Our Time Is Always At Hand

I am the monster of my imagination. I exist purely for the sake of experience and no more. Nothing ensures my day-to-day survivability as the quest for the existence which I imagine. There can be no completion as the quest and the search are one and the same. There is no difference between what I am and what I think that I am. Within the arms of Infinity, I take shape and form. Delivering what is promised, I know myself to be. In the promise of thought, consequences and causality, my existence becomes all that is. Striving, it is always attainable and yet never achievable.

The Quest ensures the thoughts we harbor with care intent. Alone, we strive and in survival, we comfort ourselves that another day has passed, another time is to come, another moment to realize. Weighing our options, we create our fate and live up to it.

Beyond the hopes and the dreams in which we place our treasures, we meet the final road of our doom. The end times arrive and with the knock upon our door, we dutifully answer, revealing ourselves in all of His glory.

Between the lines of meaning, between the meanings of this or that, there lies an Emptiness, ever vigilant in it's Quest for Glory. Eventually, Nothing matters and through time we are carried forward. Of it's own accord, Life lives and we merely hang on as the clothes we wear while we endure what is to come and what is to pass. Breathlessly we await our Time and come to see that we have been missing it all along. Realizing ourselves, we come to know of ourselves and in the process define the life we lead. Our time is always at hand.

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