On the darkest of nights on the coldest of days I wandered down an unknown street, believing I had been led astray.
Upon my shoulders, two voices taunted me, in literal fashions they described notions of vast subjects such as beauty and decay.
Unwilling to give in to one or the other, I tore myself asunder and lay underneath the luminous stars giving form to various images diversely inhabiting the visible enclosure of a spec of holy dust..
There was a falling star. A sign that I may have gone too far. Yet the image of a cedar urged me to not give in to this enticing fear.
What I wished, what I truly desired, was to be one with the trinity in which I wholeheartedly admired. Yet to be whole in all aspects of my Being was a task I wondered with each breath I took that I would be capable of achieving.
My mind, a supernova constantly erupting. One day blooming and the next it is daunting, fleeing within in order to find the point of transmutation where it formed and has been lost from since.
My body, confused and bruised as to where it is consciously directed as with each action it is most certainly affected in either a degree that consists of positivity or the stark contrast ferociously.
My soul, a cage which is constantly engaged in an eternal struggle that takes place on a different plane yet most certainly affects the spirit of where the incarnate remains.
Fueled by both love and hate, rejection and affection, unrelenting torment and serene bliss, the formless infinite cannot express itself in this finite test, yet I shall allow it to persist.
What a mess that has been blessed by the holiest of holy with the hint of a diabolical twist. If I am that which I am, simply a man who shall do what he can, would it make me the opposite if rather than holding my ground like a closed warrior, I, like the coward and trickster, took flight and ran.
Rather than valiantly fight against the darkness of the night, I grew mechanical feathers and took flight into a infernal light which ultimately hurled me into the embers of an eternal maelstrom, which path shall I wander and what am I yet to become.
I am at war, a consistent theme for I am none other than a simple Human Being. To control these emotions, alchemists would devise a potion that would seek to transform the base lead into pure gold, before they withered away as they grew old, fearing that they would find no peace upon infinite permanence within a finite relevance, their minds grew ever so bold as their souls had been sold.
The battle is won even before the devised strategy had become undone.