[Abandoned Cities] a prose

[Abandoned Cities]
The city seems abandoned; roads are clear, skies are dim, humanity finally silenced.
-a walk through the gutters, the sound of footsteps keeping cadence with the clicks of the “right-of-way” signal;
The moon is a dead thing, and as such, it knows no pain, no anguish as the living below it. He is without form, as the earth once was and light is known to him as a myth of mirage that
looms in the vast depression just preceding the step from this life. What is farthest from him, he is so close to it that he grows into it, a splinter of an imitation burn from the same womb as
what is now bygone, desired.

There is no reason other than to have his feet on the ground, to circumnavigate broken landscapes where few ever traversed. The core of him tells him to mind his natural limits, a
supernatural distortion possess him to walk about confusedly, as if it was possible to stand as tall as the things that stood great before him because for all he is, all he may be, he is no more
significant as the lesser things before him, below him.
The thing to be seen is inside of him but his eyes are not yet transparent, perception is not known fully, understood, but the full understanding, if he is not careful, what will become of
him again is something he does not wish to relive, the suffering of it once is much enough. If he is to see, he must move towards light; his vision is still infantile, his being an infant, for
being itself entangles the body in fury. And though he begin to first admire what he hopes to become, he has then taken the first step toward his own compliant drive, shakes loose his
competency, becomes an accessory to a form that is privy to no true mold other than motion in spatial space





Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Leitmotif]