New Earth. (Forever Soiled)

Steering clear of the supple arbitration of waking hours. The cold morning eagerly clutches at the coming day. Sun ever dwelling and night so expectedly distant. 

I seek a new earth. 

New territory, terrain, tera firma. 

The wide eyed ego trope from misanthropic pundits embellish the senses.  Reaffirmed assertions of our still and verbose positions. 

We cannot sit and abide by singularities. 

Unsung laws of warring eras. 

Union by misallocation. 

Strength in disassociation. 

Peace and blurred vision. 

New earth, dislocated. 

Rotten, broken at conception. 

Near death, and still eager to live. 

Ever the tragic conclusion.