Blank Spaces

Ages have passed in a matter of moments, imputable spells cast by one-eyed wizards and inapt sages, a garden of thorns has blossomed in a field of stone; broken is the plow by which the farmer lay, uncultivated are the best of the crop, but treacherous are the ones effortlessly manipulated; Comatose is the white light which arrives too late, always choosing to ride a wind that never blows, Around the picture can be flipped, but even right side up it still might be upside down; Learning can never be bad but believing you know it all will set you afire and leave you unaware you are burning