I'm reminded of any and everything.

The things you are, the words you have said.

Everything.

Fleeting words in the air. The smell of decay. The rampant self thought.

It all has basis in images, metaphors and the lack of communication.

Walls.

I mean, getting past the crappy prose and poetry, realize none of this has any relevancy.

The point exists far beyond your ability to comprehend that you do not understand your lack of ability to understand.

Every last metaphorical romp is at best half guessed at worse nothing less then the grand total of nothing.

At the same time, this is a stirring deep within me.

Far beyond these desolate dunes and forsaken deserts is a hope for eternity.

Beyond this pain, this malfunctioning machine posing as a human, there is a soul whose heart beats will move into eternity.

Nothing fleeting will be eternal but this hope of my heart is something beyond any comprehension.

The broken body and collection of blood was enough to redeem an unfathomable mass, if so then I know I am not above redemption. That only my pride needs to die that I may find myself truly alive.