Blind aspirations

In my world day is night, the moon is the sun and morning is the scent of death I sleep to again and again. There are mountains without ends and seemingly endless meandering's. There are eyes that see always new as to change life into endless beginnings. We are pilgrims here learning again to eat and feast and know once more the milk of mothers breast. Every value turns like a seed, and Gods tears fall at our pathetic struggle to make grow with unbound strength this bond of humanity.