The end of the end where nothing lies. . .

The end of the end where nothing lies, that is the resting place of silence.

No words, no melody, no sight, no emotion, naught permeates the den of reticence.

 

It may well be that’s what we seek, but the path is full of a gratuitous din.

Ignorance is bliss and yet it is blasphemy, seekers of solace often forget to look within.

 

Take me there, take me there.

To the end of the end where nothing lies, it is the home of my id.

Yet I endeavor futile pursuits yielding thorned flowers and fruits rancid.

 

The stillness, the darkness; the barren realm becall the seeker.

And he wonders and wanders, lost; charging from the truth further and further.

 

The end of the end where nothing lies is the truth of the truth.

It’s what behind the curtain, but the seeker fails to see, blinded by indulgence and youth.

 

Rage is dead, so is desire, envy is begone and there is no place for love.

What exists is none, and that is the beauty. No poetry, no reason no rhyme.

 

Take me there, take me there.

To the end of the end where nothing lies, and let me be with myself and I.

Finally, the universe shall be unhindered; I shall meet the seeker and peace shall be nigh.

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