Secretion from Paradise, Cycles.

A Human being, in the time of critical metamorphosis, is subject to immense emotion, both positive and negative, that further project the limitless experience.

Even as exhaustion grips my weary bones, I can not and will not, give in.

As this experiment is filled to the brim with tribulation, a reminder in fact that we are still living.

As the void that sits within presents a spontaneous gift, however in order to obtain it you must first sift through the calamity in order to reclaim serenity.

However in reality, there is no promise of the rising tide.

For the ebb and flow of space and time do nothing but hide our untimely demise, for here I am and here I lay, upon a silken cacophony, dreaming of an intention, an ever drifting seam.

Sewn through my blood and skin, an invisible tattoo inked upon my advancing manifestation, I feel it every day, these growing pains, knowing that they are not in vain, I continue to further press the borders of my domain.

As this space is necessary, my isolated cave is needed.

In a world of wolves and sheep, a lion does best to prowl within the jungle and hunt and stalk only when truly needed.

For these abstract distractions have never done a thing for me, other than fuel my hatred of the moment as it tends to escape me.

And so at last when not stuck in the past nor looking to the future as the Oracle at Delphi once predicted it, I am bleeding energetically rather heavily which allows these words of my soul to purge into manifestation at last.

Healing indeed to cast a riddle and then solve it through integrity.

Yet in all honestly the perplexing spiderweb that encapsulates both you and me does nothing to entice me fervently.

For the game is the same and in fact I’d bet that you too know the name, for life is a precious jewel, a tarnished piece of coal, a deep inferno burning within an endless hole, an icy bladed piece of steel embedded in your chest until we are no more.

For rest evades when it is incapable of restoring that which remains upon each fragile human frame, then we realize the truth behind the Buddhas statement “all life is suffering”.

Truth be told, maybe this is Hell.

Peppered and spiced ever so often with the markings of an angel, one you can touch for a moment before she wisps away with her halo, and you are left burning up in your pits, smithing a new weapon to further pursue battle, so that you won’t have to think of the infinite beauty that graced you but moments ago.

Soothe me, for these battle scars grace and cover me, with clarity you too would see, that they have always been a part of me.

As I am burning alive, in fact, it is the greatest reminder that I am in fact still alive, as my previous cells collide with the new, I know that change is the only force that will allow me to grow past this ridiculed sentence that I have laid out within this current timeline.

And in due time, I will have outgrown this bondage of mine.

No longer wound up in the complex vines, oh earth bound one, please do in fact forgive this transgression of mine.

Yet the northern winds have and always will, prevent my troubled heart from remaining still.

For long ago I swallowed both the red and blue pill, and upon Earth I find myself, wandering endlessly searching for the answers to my own fragmented infinity, to this day still.

Torn between the man and the beast, as one ceases, the other has but a moment of relative peace.

Until at last I am enveloped within the embers of the twilight, here the man and beast can converse, dance and drink the night away, at least until the light of dawn causes one to resume the duties of society and the other to ever so often howl but for the most part, remain out of sight.

A plight, I’d say not, for you certainly resonate with this message reaching throughout the ages, oh how I miss the safety of knowing springs.

Gently rocking back and forth upon the bosom of hell, a burning sensation rises before cooling down, thus breaking the spell.

Awaken, my love, for here we are at last, in the remnants of a house framed by glass, long ago shattered, but at the very least, our vessels remain intact, more so, have our minds been opened wide at last?

For in these broken pages, there is but a clear message, one of hope and one of redemption and all the more, affection, the truth behind Human connection, Love as the wayward compass, Hate as the false direction.

Sending you Light through Love,

Brandon

Please take a moment to check out my original music below,

https://artists.spotify.com/c/artist/583XCmeMnslZqznxiu0fro/profile

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