The pivotal excuse is the price of my ascension.
I disguise activities to fool my mind.
Relentlessly I follow an empty road.
No road lays before me.
A books pages fly back and forth.
The wind reads, the chapters passed on.
The life span and through man life is passed on.
The story told although none may be true.
A man with a book written for few.
The book written about anything one desires.
Man could not take it, a test was made.
Man through knowledge and through spite could not fathom.
The stories foretold of a book about everything.
Man failed, the author insane, for these blank pages he explained.
" You are too weak, too thorough, you've all lost sanity. what a pity, humanity ".
He went about his days as the book was forgotten.
The only sane man his deeds forgotten.
His book, still out there with one secret.
On the hard cover back it says " all's beginning"
His book you see was about imagination. Every author since writes in this mans pages. The only sane man left is on blank pages.
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