Rustle beside resonance

We've triumphed, we've surrendered, we've shrugged off, and we've riveted on, we've furtively distorted, we've implacably cast down, we've loved amorously, we've reviled venomously, we've seen off with tear, we've received with rapture. But have we ever been ruminated on coming out of our vanity, stereotype, myopia, intoxication, greed? Have we ever thought out of our knowing something may come true?

Rationalists are interrogated by themselves, every year in particular, if they've done anything irrespective of morality and let someone down. Individualistic fundamentalism, growing up with incongruous complacency, a shell, is scoffed; we must come out of. Soon after sore eyes will be dried out synchronising with the hustle and bustle. No matter a short life comes to an end, the senile inexhaustible world drones on every morning. From where we come, where we go back, dark to light, light to dark. End of a year, end of a life, death, which are rustles beside resonance.