The Conquest: You'll Get There In the End

Memories, once so full and once so clear. Fall apart, crumble, descend and disappear. “Who are you?” I asked, the stranger in the shadows. He meanders, waltzes, laughs and bellows. “To know this answer son, you must channel my paths,” He sounded so diligent and responsive but so unclear, The paths he led me filled me with a disobedient fear. He told me, “A greater zeal is yet to be discovered,” It was around the corner, untouched and unbothered. Under the moss, and through all the trees, I must look and seek who I was, find the purpose of me. “Among a quest for atonement is a quest for life, A journey for one man’s existence, To bolster it and to let it run rife, To find it, destroy it and repeat. Find a piece of mind. Exploit what you find, And don’t be your own disease.” He echoed in accordance to an angel playing the harp, Ignoring a question reminiscent of an ambience feeling so dark, Numb to the bone, fearful and thoughtful, “Continue my conquest,” I said, “Be more resourceful,” I continue down the shadows path, fearing my life Protract my stride; and keep thinking “You’ll get there in the end.” “Tell me son, what you reside to? Do you stand on landmines or do you show love like you’re supposed to?” To feel sentiment so intense from an oracle that only ceases to exist Can make you feel crazy, and feel less optimistic than the worst of pessimists, “Tell me shadow, what you necessitate? You’re making me build with rage, disregard and self righteous hate” “This is my simple my son, I am your conscience, Without redemption you will go to hell for what you have done, It is time to soul search and finally erase what you’ve become, You were once pure, in a chamber of mirth, In a pot of gold, a pure soul at birth, Now you’re a world apart, diverse and tainted, It is my fancy to help you my son, I’ll get your original picture painted, I am yearning to help you my friend, It is my infatuation to get you there in the end.