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A mote constitutes what to me is not all, and eternally all, is nothing

Fleeting realm of abdication.

Illuminated carcass.

Carnal vessel has sprung a leak.

Does the dining rat divine those planes of nothingness?

Vane waste of matter.

Rejoicing in being does not suffice?

Entangled in reasoning.

Why is it that vision's vultures still strive?

Dead, decaying and devoid of poetry.

Symphony, humble abode. Why is it?

Deleting significance and sound.

What is it you sense?

Embracing essence and her innermost void.

Why digress?

Incarnation of non-being is absence is void is omnipresence.

Why despair?

A mote constitutes what to me is not all, and eternally all, is nothing.

Unattainable precisely because it is the object of longing.

Man is god when he devines, and a beggar when he ponders.

Supersede the essence of their being.

Crowned with the laurel wreath of fame.

Decorated with the myrtle leaves of love.

Mouthpiece of nature.

Refute and deride.

Beneath a swarm of feasting flies and amidst the offal.

I scorn the base upon which their thought is built.

Why is it the apostate forthwith does not immolate his own father?

Eleemosynary convalescent. Ignivomous leper.

Decorated with the myrtle leaves of love.