True Beauty

Why thy ever so beautiful blossom fall to thy pitiful dirt to dance with vermin. Rain and wind sheds them with disregard. They laugh or cry as they twinkle into the night. Getting stuck into our hair. Holding on for a moment of true beauty. For a moment of truth justifies all time. Flowers wither, and beauty fades. Nature asks to take away what is naturally beautiful to be enjoyed for a moment.

But why cant beauty last forever? In that moment of beauty there stands the awe to which we succumb to. It’s a standstill in time and we are there gazing at it for as long as we possibly can. For its truth and at that moment, truth could be worth a million years, for truth is true beauty. In a time where we are shamed by falsehood we rarely have a moment of truth to relate too. When that time comes and then goes we are dazed in the true light of beauty…

Prayer 74

With intriguing unison we stand and think of your holy name. Contemplating defense for your tempered wrath. Summon high and call from the depth. Think of the truth you called to rest. You expect the best when we have none to give. Enveloped in mysteries, with no clue of it. There is nothing with your grandeur and no way to explain you. Even with a million years and a million hints we still wont be able to. There is no word to expound; it is just but a limitation.

We can’t draw you, express you, or explaining you. You are attained, being the unattainable. You are unlimited, by your limitedness. God answers us in a time of despair for we may continue to serve you. For our minds are confused, open our eyes and hearts. That is the only way to value in our insanity. We’ve created walls for our echoes. Built lives to destroy with ponder. May you rebuild it back to unite our minds and heart, forever god I say Amen.

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A man argues with that which upsets him most. Because a person must revolt with what he believed. As dusk dawns and the flowers wither we are left with none but our thoughts. Ponder of what were a small grain of dust and sand amongst a vast ocean of troubled dreams. We should not flow and sway with the uncalculated wave of misfortune unsure of its tide and its rip far stronger then we can fathom until we are left on a desolate wasteland of unfinished plans.

If we so but had the power to fight the wind of change and become what we were to be. Forest die and animals savage but that has no say in the life of god. Flower of hope which forever sprouts new love and courage.

If we could grasp on the ropes of our heart and just stare into the eyes of what was a ray of our salvation. The spiral tunnels of misfortune always lead itself to the right place. For the night end we all puzzle to fit that what we cant answer. If we could just some way fit in with our surroundings and not caged in figment of enslavement. To our body and mind, free yourself of the yoke of deception and falsehood.

Dreams

A dream is a step out of reality. It’s a step higher and deeper. You could love someone you hate and hate someone you love. Go out of reality the wildness of the real and live yourself out of the paradigm of life. Lose yourself and imagine the unimaginable. Fathom the feint of insanity. Reawaken your thoughts you terror.

When the nights chill and the owl calls come you fall and lie you leave and despair. While your soul leaves you and you dream. Unaware of whom you are and why you are. Your soul raises, conscious mind halts, while your sub-conscious flows. Then you dream dreams you love and dreams you hate, and ones you love cause of hate. The mind forgets it because it doesn’t believe. Stands with spite. Must be a replay, a spirit, but your mind perceives you’re heart desire. There are those who dream whilst awake. They don’t know who they are. They just flow and follow their instincts.

Beasts in the lack of sense of reality. They lose themselves and think they know themselves. Their lost. Perceive an imagination of reality so insane so obscure. In a charm, they live in a dream. It’s a contagious account. The reality is an insane feat; just stubbornly believe the dreams dream.
Man dreams of hope a vision of redemption. From the self-delusion of his own serenity to the tranquility of the abode. He’s lived forever by play. He’s directed onto a scene and is not even getting paid. He’s committed his own victim. Neither cares or knows of its pain and gash it has inflicted, the harm it suffers. Its cry he cannot understand. Seems like a foreign language. More sonic waves we may not hear. The captive is yelling. Until he pulls the chain of development and yanks it till its heard and allowed for all to hear. “God oh god please save me from my misery. I beg you my lord please help!” forever he may plead. There’s journey of hope for when a man may desire it he will be enlightened and be flabbergasted and go beyond himself and know whole truly his potential.

Madness of God

We dream to see him but could we?
We describe his glory and splendor but should we?
We imagine his strength and wisdom but can we?
He envelops and engulfs this world in mystery.
He conceals himself within himself.
He knows everything before you.
You paint his face but does he have one?
You realize his strong arm but does he posses one?
You think he hates you when he loves you.
You describe his actions as curses when there really blessings in disguise.
You think you know him when it’s impossible to know.
You cry out of pain from your suffering, when really they should give you joy.
We credit the work of our hands when it was given to us.
We mistake nature as natural.
We have faith in time of glee and spite in time of pain.
The world is not when we think it is all.
We fool ourselves, and think we fooled the world.
We are petrified of insanity; we fear it or are it.
We have a phobia, illness, and madness for God.
We try to portray, describe, and imagine.
Dream, hope, and live.
Die to long, desire and feel.
All else we fathom but God we cannot.
With zeal I say we are mad for God.

Life's Goal

I’m sitting here trapped in my own dream; there is no reachable light just real far away. My hand keeps falling. I’ve been locked in this pit and am left with god and I ask and plead, “Why don’t you come to my salvation?” But my echo is all that is heard I beg and cry, the tears are mine. I have not lived to see failure for fear of success. I just dream of it. I trust in god to give me my strength and power.

My salvation has not been forthcoming. The heart asks but gets no response. Its blood is cold it sees no warmth. The mind is dull waiting for it to be let of. I’ve dreamed and dreamed in dreams but none to come true. I yelled and yelled none to hear. I asked and asked but none to hear an answer but yet you try again and again. Where is life if not for trying? I must strive again and harder each time. Because we were born for it, the goal of trying. No response no answer of reality. Just continue to try again and again, that is our goal.
God heard my cry. What use is it again if he has not told me anything back? Is there use in something pointless? Is it worth to try when you tried? That is the goals and desire in life. That is the idea to refine yourself and be of a better person. A time where we are all one and desire but one thing. If not for that is there a point living? Tell me. I feel like I’ve lived one hundred years my thoughts don’t stop the sound rings in my ears. My heart just can’t stop pumping. My mind wanders to celestials of places…

Art's Following

Art is the expression of the soul. It is where souls express itself within the body and mind. Lose yourself and allow your soul to express it. To reveal the inner secret what it wants and what it desires, the foretelling of essence or some might say sub-conscious. Art is a talent not possessed by all and those who have it and master it could achieve unbelievable heights. Reach to where the mind lays hidden to where it lies and quivers in the cold awaiting for the warmth of the heart. It seeks refuge and conceals. The art reveals that passion our hearts are waiting to reveal, out hearts know it all. To reveal the innermost of our personality and character. To enlighten this dark cave we live in. The solemn world concealed within us.

Walls are wet with tears, painted with myriads of colors. Complexion. Arrays of pictures, scenery, and scenario, where we paint our life. What overlooked lies and distressed thoughts? The multitudes of feelings mark our vessel, and wall where they hang. Haunt us and cry forever. This is the abyss of depression we dig for ourselves. Fooled to be left in utter gloom. Pen of sorrow. Develop and forget. Caged our conscious within the sub-conscious and forever forget.

For this we need art, lights up our hovel, which we dwell, and disgust. Lament on its being. It’s bright and we realize, and contemplate our soul and passion. Where we dwelled what seemed forever. Enlightened. Shone to us. This is the purpose of art it is the key and light to your inner and secluded self.