Inane

The eerie of darkness
Its hollowness, emptiness and loneliness
Hampered to a spate of bitterness
That is like a fear of messiness

No where to begin, No where to start
No where to look-in, No where to find out
How sublime is everything
That take a long distance of illuminating

Heedless of every step that print
Heedless of every extending pity hand
Heedless of every seconds and minutes
Heedless of every months and years

The look-in of brightness
That's too far too reach the vividness
A never never finding way
In which thought is in lay