Interior infinities long to escape you,
to become concrete and static,
to have that moment of stillness.
While exterior stillframes,
our finite externalities yearn
for the eternality of abstraction.
We are the fountainheads of consciousness,
creativity pours forth from our beings only,
we spew our ideals, we lay down blueprints of utopias
spilling forth the beauty we conjure,
summoning greatness from the aether,
palpating and materializing the infinite impressions
that press upon our wakefulness. . .
Once placed outside of ourselves,
thoughts, eternal, become finite for an infinity. .
The paradox of man, finite moments within an seemingly infinite finity.
