Why is the night so musical and the day so modestly ambient? The answer, of course, is that the wings of things that thrive in the night are not like the wings of things that thrive in the day… still my curiosity is not set with the tale. Why is pleasure so illusory and sadness so readily made? It seems that sadness is a simple recipe while happiness requires ingredients scarce to be found. Even so, why does sorrow cling to the winter while spring finds lovers at their peak? Such questions course through my veins like a lingering venom, and my curiosity… like an unwanted immortality… may never be quelled to sleep.
© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit
Taken from Heir to Enigma, Ab Antiquo, Ab Aeterno , Nov. 2010