A brief disclosure of perspective in hindsight.
In the year subsequent to Amidst, dread paid a visit;
in the month of transition, leaves give up, one after the last;
in the week of festivity and light, obligations leave the wallet parched.
Courage falters on the day of revolt, an occasion is foregone,
the unassuming ones declare victory over the stage;
yet the loss doesn't instigate remorse.
I kept inside, when in streets faux battles against 'some' evil were fought.
The view was underwhelming at best, those involved were of intellectual inferiority,
deemed unto them, by themselves.
The hive was put to order by the supreme power, that which I hadn't dared to inspect,
or interrogate—the entirety of said matter rested unexplored,
veiled under the excuse of uninformed, disjointed dismay.
The next thought, it was time to repent for my long-lost battle again,
one against time, and sense, and the urge to remain amongst dormant, uninformed men.
I had lost by then, the urge to remain upright, and uptight.
An embrace of perpetuity then nestled me in its arms; I was sent back into the past,
to feel again, the same benign terror, in self-derived meanings,
of images and paintings I bore no context of;
to read a book, and enact the mercenary who was the in-charge of assault—
spending time in corners, subtly withering away, as the imbecile's ride came to halt,
and the adult-occasion started to see dawn.
This was terror: the absolute, impending aspect of change.
I'd begun to shed health and hope, my vision had started to grow narrow.
There wasn't much effort put into inferring the same clause in a different light,
the lens had long been tarnished—it grew fond of familiarity,
dismissing with fury, the inferences declared a foreign plight.
I had given in, once again to ritual,
of processions that had for long been succumbed by decay.
Adherence to this path made certain of my fate;
the thought would shatter the illusion that consumed me,
I was brought back from the past.
By the next minute, I had made my call:
I would spend a week in the abyss, absorbed within the illusion of the past,
and return on the seventh day, to the monotony
that the present has always been plagued with,
and look out for more future expeditions of this sort.