Sad Times, Sad Past
Sad times, sad past
Where is that life? What was the dream?
Yes. So many people are losers. I am too.
“You are, too.” Repeated Master Satan.
But I don’t feel it. I'm just going. “Walking.”
Yes, walking. The speed is not realistic.
“Because there is no moving. Works for you.
Only you. Your mind. That’s for the walk.”
Work, walk. Hmm. Work works from walk.
“Yes. In your life. Walk. The creative meditation.”
It’s that, my dear Master Satan. A walk is an indication.
“Indication for what?” For talking. From my soul.
“From your soul.” Yes. Not from my heart. That is ice.
Hmm. Better. Better stay for that—glittering icy mind.
Hail rain. Hail rain drenches my life, my being. It’s my life.
Cold. Hmm. Atmosphere. Special feeling. It’s my life.
Oh, but fragile. I don’t need temperature, then I will die.
No, no. No temperament. Only pure personality, life.
Let me save your life. Temperature is the fire of hell.
Of the hell. Be cold and ice to chill my hellish life.
“Stop. Stop now. You are praying now for a woman.” For a lady.
“In the last two verses. She doesn’t exist. Forget this dream.”
“Forget this wish, love, and dream.” Yes, I just imagined.
But the vision was realistic. “Realistic…. Hmm. “Existed in your life.”
My dreams come from the past. The past created my new dream.
“Sure?” Yes, it is not certain. “Then?” I needed something. “What?” To be.
“So create your dreams To Be.” Hmm. Yes. Imagined. Lives from the future.”
“This is great news. You are there.” Future lives from past and present. “No!”
Lives from my dreams.
And my life.
“Means.
Altogether.”
Thank
You
“That’s
Right.”
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