Mourning & Modern Knowledge

Permutations of motion though matter; the ecstatic union of void & fire; mutation arrayed in differential display:

is this

use of language the only way for the feeling to fade & finally escape from my bones?

Can't I ever go beyond what is here in front of me & reach the place I want to be?

No.

Escaping the maze is not an option, so I remain trapped in oxymoronic structures; the point where concept concedes to content; when precision & all measurement reach their limitation, but grammar still remains needed for practical reasons.

Without language there is no way to express this sense of frustration & unease echoing through me, as I witness unbounded expansions ripple & sway when thrown stones

disturb the surface of a lake, reverberate in brief undulations, & sink slowly until they can be seen no longer:

nothing ever disappears completely…

but you're too far away for me to care.

Even if absences linger within every presence, there's nothing comforting in that knowledge:

what remains of the lost

is not enough.