The Soul

Beings formed of mud, each in a state of sense. A body of spears set in a distrustful stance, differing from the men of wisdom and patience.

A body of vast hopes and desires, aimed towards unknown goals. Led by failure and disappointment.

Rejecters of good, who exile its form beyond their barriers. By spears thriving to tear apart the perception of true laws. Leaving nothing but broken portions. For the self to never sense this presence or the letter which they once fought for.

Shifters of shape and thought, every moment in a state. Angered, hopeful, happy, sad, hapless, confused, lost. Wishful beings, desiring a thing and expecting another. Acts held to reap confusion as they wish guidance but avoid its path.

A state of being, a tiny island in the midst of a stormy ruthless sea.

Senses, thoughts, feelings, swept away and covered with ruthless tides. Where senses rest, and finite dreams die. Where love is hate and the loss is in a destined fate.

An island, where senses rest. Things that appear momentarily to soon disappear eternally. Emissions set out by the melting crust of earth which formed it, though in moments its state can be turned into another for a new sensation to be formed and molded.

In reality only moments are spent between each shift, yet in each it feels as if it is eternity.