In as much as he miss and would love to behold thy innocence and seraphic radiance. He don't just want to create a seen without pulling the string..
Without

THE POWER OF BELIEVE..
drowning he was
Falling he was..
Losing sanity he was..
Derailed he was..
Frustrated he was..
Confused he was.
Lost he was.
Deserted he was..
Buried he was...
And the slanderers rejoiced..
Thinketh they..
Never will he rise again...
Then he felt a paradigm shift..
A shift like none other..
A shift accompanied by everything benevolent...
It is,  the slanderers whispered, a phantom bone disease..
Let they wander and dawdle for they are steeped in a quagmire of visibility lest a veil is upon all their sensory nerves, depriving them the beauty and the quintessence of the invisible...
But he is/has...
No more drowning, but drinks from the fountain of knowledge,
Spiced with milk and honey..
No more falling but floating in void..
No more losing sanity but unravelled the mystery of true sanity..
No more derailed but dandified...
No more frustrated but ferociously inspired..
No more confused but concentrated..
No more lost in darkness but guided by light..
No more deserted..
No more Buried but sprouted..
Now..
El magnifico... He is..

"WITH ME"
Dwell with me, in my craziness..
Walk with me,  in my walk on the dusty track.. And let's make admiration upon our dirtiness..
A track,  no amount of canniness can avail a passer from being dust stained..
Walk a tightrope with me,  through the precarious and drier than a dead dingo's donger deserts, through the most Arctic temperate regions of the universe, we would keep each other warm...

Stay with me,  even if scanty my lot is of present..
Dance with me, amidst the wildest of chaos..
Dream with me, my wildest of dreams..
Play with me, like a child, hold not a thing back..
Swim with me,  in the river of life, together we can make it through the current flow..
Let thou and I take the sorry scheme of things entire and diffuse, stir and neutralize it.. To the desire of our soul..
sail with through the roughest of seas,  in search for a world, not in existence, yet..

It's Amazing how swift and down slopping  things and ways, rolls and drift into the abyss of obsolete without a brass fading of affection immersed in the darkness of time..
But thrilling how that which reaches out to the soul of humanity and  universe reemerges more illuminous from the abyss of time..

"Mr Boon"
It's really been a while I came across that adorable senile man " Mr Boon", maybe he's just too vexed with me,  maybe he's not pleased with the last encounter, cause I was too rash on the dusty.
Oh dear good senile man "Boon" don't be too ******* m
e not to pave on my pavement again. I know, I might have just been quite juvenile the aforetime, and we never learn. But does not everyone deserve a twoth?

Hail out to the inverts.
Hail out to the ones that are actually godlike, the once that describes reality in the inverse direction..
Even the creator shapes the universe in the inverts.
In order to be godlike one must step into the inverts shoes,
Walk in the inverts realm and dwell in the inverts dimension.

The who I have become ..

Sometimes it's quite forlorn to be extensive with words in ur head, never can one be able to utter them, I feel so frustrated, I guess I will just have to train myself to be outspoken, no matter how well I train myself to be outspoken, can never be enough.
Can't tell how got here, but he is loving it..
But avoid loving it just a little too much, else you get lost in what's never really yours.

There are words I don't think I can utter at the moment, the who I have become.. But that's fine..

One who foster too many words but hardly say a word.. But that's lovely..
One who spent hours with himself searching for knowledge, stealing a glance at the sunset, half blurry half full moon.
Lost in admiration ere interrupted by a shooting star..
One consciously or unconsciously programmed to be congruent with societal or cultural influence..
One whose formed series of programmed strands which governs it's existence without being the programmer...
One whose mistakes uncountable yet still much to make, learnt so much yet learnt nothing..
One formed from nothingness into somethingness of impulses and desires, never ending desires that leads to absolute emptiness...
Like one left in lurch in the middle of a spacious dry desert, dehydrated, so weary of taste.
Continuous increase in weariness of taste by the passing seconds.
Continuous search for an oasis to quench his hankering, yet only find mirages which only increases his taste.. Buts that's still fine..
Open books all day and night in a constant note..
All with the one message harmonize yourself with the oneness of God..
Yet so many dogmas and misconceptionists spreading mischief for their selfish gains..

Asked...



What



Are

You?





I'm


A


god


Losing


godliness..

You will need me more than you think you would ever need me...
You will retire into tears, when you reflect on my words and realize it's the truth all the while..
You will curse the beings that has clothed the truth with lies and led you astray.
You will feel the spectres of truth, the ingenuity of the soul behind the scrivener and be immersed in unexpected chill....

But then it will be too late cause I will be nowhere found..

It's Time...

For so long,  consciously or unconsciously, I have given you the access..
Allowed you to shape and mold me to your heart desires..
Like a clay upon the hands of the sculptor.. Oh, what a beauty you have constructed...

Like the SCULPTURE PYGMALION,
Graciously, the gift of breath have been granted unto the figure you have molded..

Allotted the wheel to you..
Like a vehicle, you have driving me, crazily, calmly,  moderately, to the vissicitude of your heart desires..
But it's now Authomatum.
Like a skilled architect, you've crafted me to your desideratum, into a perfection but not my perfection.

Like a weaver, you've weaved me into  a marvelous fine silk, radiating quite a beauty to the beholder of utmost perfection yet so imperfect..

For so long, you have succeeded in assembling me,  yet feeling so disassembled...

Verily, Like a mosaic artist, you have drafted an incredible piece of work, perfect, yet so imperfect..

Like the SCULPTURE PYGMALION,
Graciously, the gift of breath have been granted unto the figure you have crafted..

One who believes in everything is likely to suffer from the disease called believedietis.
I.e be prone to die of misappropriation of believe, leading to mediocrity and hypocrisy.
Just believe in what you love, inspires and motivates and drives you.. But don't mistake believing out-of necessity and survival with the later.

I dreamt of a home where the head of the home practices Ritualism, who in order to sustain is life and wealth suffocates the life out off his children. Thus he got married to too many a wife and gave birth to too many a children, so he will always have a substitute for life and wealth. As the head of the house he used his power to repress the commentary of the wives, he even forced to stay without any terms of agreement the wife that got tired of the marriage cause they do nothing but bear children which they never get to enjoy.
He mastered the act of fakir, thereby basked in crocodile smile and silence he operates..
He paints the building with a whitish paint on the outside to derail the mind of the observer but the cracks and red stains betrays him and discloses the crooked and deformed nature of the inside.
The leaders of nigeria they are like this ritualist, who for his selfish gains and to sustain is life, takes the life of his children one after another, even while the child is struggling to save his life closed his and suffocate them, for that reason he got married to plenty a womsn of differrent size and shape, color and background.. He uses is power as the head of the house to suppress all.. His accomplice are his fellow ritualists and sons who assists him in committing this barbarian act of the post-babarian epoch..

In my dream, with the aid of the sons that assists in this act of savagery, this time he was able repress and suffocate the child but this child he suffocated was so tough he had a hard time completing it ****** to an extent that it drag some attentions from the wives and neighbors, but quickly the sons assisting cleared every trace of the mess and finally he suffocates the child, after a lot of struggle.. We have brothers and sisters in nigeria that assists in the suffocation of their brothers and sisters, sons and daughters that contribute to the suffocation of mothers and fathers....
It took place in the midst of darkness there was no moon and stars in the sky but all of a sudden after this particular suffocation, in darkest, creepiest, and cruel of nights, a shooting light quickly transformed itself into a moon accompanied by a light that translate itself to a star, both illuminated this blackest of night, and conquered the mystery of this blackness.. Giving the light of lead..

Stay alive..
Stay alive is what, I was designed to do,  until eventually exhaust the very life I'm meant to keep alive..
Maybe I might require some stimulants to keep me out of this slumber, anytime the system  grows weak and weary falling into a slumbering state, hoping it's not the slumber of eternal, have a long way to go on a track so short and narrow and a system so weak, undoubtedly unable to withstand the pressure of "against the current flow"
"Against the current flow"why go on against some thing that never gets weary and never takes a time out...

Daddy's little deary.
Daddy will never cut ties with his dearie on purpose
verily he's proud of her for never given up on him,
though, she's now a fully grown, young seraphic beauty, attracting tons of challenges, stress and strains..
  Things did go ironically from what daddy planned, and the track back home is just too crooked,
having darkness similar to the pitch of a moonless night not even a star to pave  daddy's way home, even the little lamp of daddy no longer lit, but daddy will never give up on making his way back home to his little dearie..

Poem to daddy's little dearie......

THE WIND
He wants to be like the wind
the breeze ever present, yet not all ways felt ever blowing, ever so soft and translucent, it voiceless  rhythms with such a fine melody that it makes even the mighty oak tree dance to its tunes, ever so underrated yet more precious than all the finest lucre known to all, it's a void, vortices of ether,ever so empty yet none can exist without its  presence..
Though never seen, it stirs up and agitates the most calmest of seas to a magnitude unclassified..

He happens to be in his highest when he is in the lowest.
Oh how sublime is the lowest that it has and house the godliness or the beastly nature of a being,  
fret not of the sublime.
Fear not of the dark.
Eliminate not the dark..
Desist not the lowest...
For only those that embrace
the  sublime and darkest cesspool of the lowest,
gets to live and exist..