Physically, inspirational.
Metaphysically, equally so.
Whenever lost in absence of muse
We wander wherever it points to go.
Does the fear of the dark
Stem from the horrors that hide
behind?
Or simply the possibility
Of the hell that we must grind?
Yet what if instead
As fear of isolation?
From the visible world;
From the spotlight of creation?
In all it is witnessed,
Giving loved the life to think.
Transcendence is as analysis claims
To flow from candles and ink.
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