A Crime: Change

The land has separated from the sea, making mountains of islands, ponds of oceans. In the congregation of existence the metamorphosis of life made themselves among the plentiful youth of birth. There the realm of beauty lingered in the elements of touch, of sight, of hunger, craving for time to halt in its process.
I went back to a place known to me in a past of my ignorance. Beauty dwell in the memory of those times remembered. Long before the hands of capital gain it existed in my mind, as the elegance of its grace painted vividly of that past. The hands of human had already tainted its pasture over a century ago, yet it still remained with innocence and beauty. It remained with truth of the land when it became no longer an island, no longer the lava burning at the edges of the sea. The mist of the air covers the space between land and sky, earth and horizon, making a majestic view in its calling. Yearning to make a past disappear from my thoughts, torturing it in the written language of tongue, the written language of solitude that another path may open a new door. I was there then with experienced eyes to see with my emotions, my longing, my insignificance that it was still beautiful for my eyes to view, for my eyes to watch. A different atmosphere of a world known in the past.
Change was wandering around with its consistency, pondering when it will decide to create a moment without options, without consequence to move in a different path, yet and still, not forgetting. And there were none at that moment; there were the memories not falling to my thoughts, the touches not feeling but the cold, the presence waiting to return from that past. Change had already happened then without my knowing. It had occurred with the will of tomorrow. Only of those things not yet happened. Those things with themselves without consequences and expectations. I have come to past, yielding in its presence that it is no longer there. It is no longer for me to remember.
And I shall forget them for myself. As the land separate creating mountains from islands, I shall be in the space of its forgetfulness. In the ponds of seas, I shall be the nomadic soul in my wandering, still, with a longing unknown; a solitude deterring a destination.
I am no longer in my youth, still experiencing innocence. I am no longer in my adolescent with unaware passion. I am no longer untainted by life in its development of my berth.
I have yielded quietly, consciously, to the politics of society. That change has committed a crime. Among them I am the meager mass in human existence ' expendable; obligated to my work. The foreshadowing of its alteration has long been warned. In the eagerness of an atmosphere unforeseen by my simple mind is guilty in its forthcoming. It has, alas, arrived. Undaunted now by its presence, I crave for this crime; change.
No longer am I guilty in its process, toward my obligations, my duties. No longer do I crave for its consistency; its mundane of eager minds already corrupted by their lack of ambitions, their lack of passion, yet a passion nonetheless unknown to them. And no longer am I the blamed for any loss, any misfortune, any hidden agendas that circulate among them.
Their society had clouded their judgment of truth, honor, chivalry, not the war-like chivalry, but chivalry that has pride dwelling in its gain; to earn with their ambitions. And judge for themselves in truth, not in the servant of others, of the integrity themselves. It is the learned knowledge of blindness.
Progression has been made slightly in my hands. With blind knowledge as change occur where the apparitions linger constantly in a near distant. My island has become a mass, yet my ponds have become the seas again; a new vastness to my eyes where the congregation of thoughts now consuming them.

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