What More
In our travels,
behind that space,
in the mist of the lot in the strive walk,
whether it be in the front-lines, or in the neath,
regardless of a present situation,
there is that moment subtle,
when the mind perceives fully the footlessness of time itself,
the moment be brief, yet therein the volume of the magnitude of happenings leaves every question unanswered,
and faiths unshakable comes crushing down,
whispers from a faceless solicitor that strikes the soul at its core:
After the merry, after so seeking to find that which you most desire, after the amusements, even when the fantasies far come to be, when you’d had all alas, What More?
Every man once born of a woman, will at some point — not only at the first of its happening — tremble at the grasp of no valid answer to this question: What More?