porcelain omen

Well, here we are again.  Ink meets paper as another thread of my soul is forced out of the weave.  I feel far too much like dying and not nearly close enough to alright.  I don’t understand this place anymore.  What was once my treasure has darkened, like a diamond forced to flee its sparkle.  No more of the blessed peace lives.  All has been forsaken, forgotten.
 

I wish I could find these truths.  But they have been dismantled down to their foundations.  Questioning everything, I am left here speechless and without reason.  All things have been  turned askew, their axis corrupted indefinitely.

Oh where have you gone blessed luster!  Your countenance used to shine upon me so luminously in days gone by.  Now I can find nothing of your words.  They have all been scratched out into the cobblestones leading away from this place.  Led astray.

How will I ever find my way again?  For the maps have all been burned, and I sit here aghast, clutching their sooty ashes in uncertain hope.  Perhaps I wish for impossible things, for time to reverse itself and for all to be put again to rights.  But it looks far too much like smashed teacups.  Impossibility.

I don’t think they will ever hold liquid again, and I mourn for them.

Or am I just too thoughtful?