Forbidden and obscured, my heart fervently follows the warpath.
One that leaves behind a trail of embers and ruins in this grand illusion, alas the human spirit, mine indeed, is a mere intrusion into that which God has created, a natural delusion.
For it is here, within this shadowy keep that I feel through both reminiscence and allow myself to weep, laugh slyly and pour another round of whiskey in defeat, it is here that I intend to release.
As empty words pour from a pondering vessel into the realm of heaven and hell in hopes to render meaning unto this silent hill.
A thrill, is it not? To move forward without a second thought, yet that is a lie that you and I know all too well.
For when we pretend that an ancient flame has at last been extinguished, then anguish alone protrudes from a wound in our chest that we are unwilling to heal.
Tell me or tell me not under the twilight lit sky, sweet symphony was it truly I whom denied your happiness?
Or is that a much easier lie?
To tell yourself in the midst of wintergreen dreams that carry you amidst the obscene, picking dead flowers and sniffing them pleasantly, for the necrosis of these lilies emits an odor that is rather extreme.
In turn too certainly it is a matter of perspective, for these ancient cobblestones stand valiantly and well worn, despite the fact that they have clearly been neglected.
Crimson wine underneath a stop sign, pouring fragility and confidence into your cellular composition until we no longer feel time.
All we feel is free, and so we allow it to be, momentarily until the facade of peace fades into oblivion and we are forced to see both the hero and the villain, one in a million would hope themselves to be one or the other, yet the soul clings to both identities by the string of an astral tether.
Projected and infected with the grace of your God and the patience of a Lightbringer, Abraxas, Chaos and Uncertainty, to you alone this brimstone evening I offer a prayer.
For I am but a pawn, I am but a cell, my life hangs in stasis, between the dual principles that define my stay within this temple, a momentary experience that grips me furthermore, repenting no more for I am an archaic form of lore.
A piece of history trapped in the mystery emitting an unknown frequency fiercely until I have had enough and decide at last to bend the knee.
And so I shall, for resisting the inevitable is certainly the reason as to why I drip and drop out.
For I am but a scout, one mapping out my inner and outer worlds, once I have come to a conclusion as to where my journey shall collide then alone shall I allow my pride to fell.
Yet for the time being I must remain stalwart, for I am my own judge, jury and executioner and certainly there is no security in allowing myself to hang from hinges.
No, no, I have lived this life many times over as a nobody and a somebody, ever so distinguished, the futility of both sides of the coin comes about when one accepts humility.
For I care not for your golden pennies nor do I see myself separate from this grand symphony, I am but an aspect of eternity that sets my world aflame before cooling it down with a gentle breeze.
That is why, if you please, you would take a moment in understanding my hesitation and my frustration, for I am not a part of the negotiations nor am I obliged to sip you from afar as you are a separate nation.
One that has warred with mine, set about pillaging my society, silently dissecting my culture in hope that I would assimilate in due time.
And in the end, a result that tore us apart, yet allowed our souls to mend, seemingly a receptive cycle, for hate and love, lost brother and sister, they truly go hand in hand.
Now as a mute band goes about orchestrating their works in the cosmos sand, I lay in the ebony, watching and listening, knowing the same disposition of my fellow artists, struggling in vain, to manifest their hope and pain through the grace of God and the allure of Satan.
A struggle indeed that will always plant a seed, one of intent and futility.
Choose wisely or do so not, for you are capable of adhering to the voice inside or following this numbed down drone of a society off the cliffs, programmed as we were to dive into the void without a second thought.
The rebel and the mischief maker, for Loki was born on the same day as I, an intention to defy as well as certainly try, to bring about change riddled in parallel ways.
For a trickster must one day come to terms with the fact that all along he was an honest man, only to himself did he truly lie.
Indeed it’s true that springing forth from the abyssal domain a new truth is due, the time of reckoning has peaked and the time of horror and uncertainty has ceased.
Take my hand as we dance the fox trot first and then the Boston, I’ll show you how to sway rather naturally within the parallels of the never ending story of humanity, alas it is true, now where were we?
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Sending you Light through Love,
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