Like a dream once seen, long ago in the periphery, having been hauntingly beautiful, now only to be chased as dreams are wont to be. Flowing motion, like air, slips through the fingers leaving only the desire to capture more of that which we cannot have, Perfection evades our very nature.
Victory, however, becomes us and is that which we are by definition: souls seeking domination. Collateral damage is not what we pay heed to.
Multi-faceted palettes, colours dancing bright; the angels dream and waltz tonight. Still, only, the goal which we pursue, the terminus to our cause, softly lingers just beyond our reach. Pithy sadness, thou art the reason I do so blindly charge ahead.
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