Life teaches a sensible man, many lessons, sometimes through the lens of experience and other times by the hand of experiment and oftentimes, we are evident of seeing life as a race of trial and error, where some rise, some fall and yet we feel their stride to be alike, leading them to an unchanged destiny and far ahead in the oceans of life, we learn that life is not, in actuality, a race track but a wheel, on which stands our mortality, so still, and which, itself, is revolving around the realms of time and through which every mortal must pass, going through the seasons of age and tasting the flavors of emotion and finally entering the doors of death after which their is only the silence of demise, but still the wheel of life never stops, for us or anything.
And for the dead, all that is left behind is their kin, who, reluctantly, wake the hand of experiment, filling their passage of thoughts with depths of emotion, pushing their minds past the deserts of pain and making their life a living perdition, thinking that perhaps, by chance, the wheel may go back to bring their kin from the realms of death but still they witness life go on.
And then they also pass the doors of death and then their kin and then theirs, it goes on and continues, all going to the same place and with the same thing; nothing. Be they be rich or poor, be they be able or incapable, their legs lead them through the same door, leaving all their inheritance, at the doorstep, to be devoured by their offspring.
And, to their unconscious surprise, their offspring fails to comprehend the loss because it is not there and soon, their memory lets go the hand of the deceased and in their tribute, a rare tear of real grief descends and yet again they experience the wheel go on but they deny even their own mind, their own perception and try to return, try to grab the forgotten hand, to bring back the tears of remembrance but life has moved on and with it, they.
And further in life, they learn that every man is for himself, no one really cares, only pretends and that every man wants to be god, wants to conquer, to be the only one.
But still they perceive life, a battle to overcome all other beings, to leave them behind, to win and to this, their prosperous kin believes that forever their reign will remain and in slavery the poor contemplate their existence to be limited to the boundaries of servitude but in reality, no boundary limits them but their own periphery of thinking.
And what no mind realizes is that no one is free, nor rich nor poor, for freedom is not written in the scripts of captivity but in the songs of thought and real freedom is sovereign of richness or ability. And for a man, this is, in reality, hardest to distinguish; the scent of freedom in the scents of slavery.
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