Cistus in Flames.


This world is not our own.

Centuries of roots have been laid down but still nothing has grown.

Dynasties, communities and families.

All built on a notion of unity.

Yet we still struggle alone.


It has begun.

The mobilisation of our dark spirit.

Many cautionary tales, many warnings.

We refused to acknowledge it.

We planted a grand dream.


Its buds were conceived in glistening haste.

Its thick, rocky and chunky roots squirmed and squelched through an infertile soil.

It was as if this earthly paste denied us the blossom of greatness.


We were never really ready, our speakers preoccupied with the sounds of social gratification.

Our worm-like fingers grasping hopelessly to respond to every notification.


The instruments of our minds are constantly suffering from trivial withdrawal.

But a feast of freedom lies within our reach!

If we could just block the frenzy..

maybe we could find the answer we seek.


The subconscious craving for something precious. Peaceful. Precise.

The yearning for this purity; only stemmed by our fear of the puritanical.

These fleeting sensations of hedonism need not be a sign of vice.

For our pursuit of pleasure is honourable. It is natural.


Under what pretense will our social achievements be framed and frosted in glory?

The fossilisation of our nobler efforts have been blissfully ignored.

Our collective actions radiate like the dying embers of a broken sun that can no longer protect its children.


The refurnishing of our soul requires a plentiful mental harvest,

but should we resupply and reproduce for a world that doesn’t try its hardest?


How can we be guardians of a home that seethes and hisses of our very presence ?

Will it end with the jaws of the earth swallowing our existence whole?

Allowing it to breath smoothly and freely, but alone.