Sighing to the moon,
seems too sad for me to bear.
The melancholy that plays on incessantly,
running on and on and on.
Sitting by the waters,
a rivulet stretching across the land.
An elegy written in interminable verses,
Never ending, and never ending still.
One day, I'll wake up,
to find myself in a world of no boundaries.
Edify me of the meaning,
of infinity, a number without limits.
Today, I draw the sign of infinity,
on a piece of paper.
Staring at this emblematic symbol,
the drab misery rushing through my heart,
like a torrent still.
"Let there be place,
a place where limits are absent,
and boundaries are nothing but dust.
In this infinite expanse, release your water of sadness.
Let it spread out and inundate this place.
If its not enough, keep adding.
Pour out everything you have,
like a ferine beast chafing against the constrains of nature."
At one point you may stop,
Questioning me,
"What is of this land?
Only of this limitless expanse,
can it ever conquer my sadness."
Infinity is not far from us, my friend.
It's in the topic sentence of this elegy.
