Armed with knowledge
of any given set of rules,
One inherits great Power:
arbitration of One's own

Be well-versed
enough to be able to subverse
any and all obstacles, however adverse,
and, moreover, to be able to transverse
thyself (and, by extension, thy universe!)
perchance edified by some means of verse,
(but not necessarily: bask in the diverse!)
during this sacred and fleeting saga of the converse
called Life: denied, defamed, and defiled by perverse
and attenuated souls; true cowards: unwilling to traverse
their own inner darkness, rather opting for the reverse:
to turn themselves schismatically and indefinitely averse
to the divine, ineffable, and limitless inverse:


So this plea, please:


Just be you,
let them be them.
Let me be me,
and let her be her.
Let him be him,
just let us be us.
Just let us.
Lettuce.

("Why he talkin' 'bout lettuce now, mommy?"
"I guess he just think he funny, the fool!")


Look, point is:

You are you and I am not,
and I'm okay with that.



I am I and you are not,
and I'm okay with that.


I hope you feel the same.
If not, by me it's coo',
yet I jus' gotta say:
I pity the foo'.


Bask in the holy beauty of this Life
while you still have the chance.
Truly, Solace awaits those who are willing to face this unchangeable aspect of this Life:

Diversity is the nature of this Universe;
the Void is One is Two are Three are the Ten Thousand
(et cetera, blah blah blah)
Get over it and strive for balance.
Maintain balance.
Create it.
Be it.
Be able to lose balance and find it again and again and again...
Be it.
Be you.
I'll be me.
I'll try, at least.
I hope you do, too.
I mean, I hope you try to be you,
not that you try to be me..
'cause that's for me to do.. not you. that's..
oh jesus, here we go!

Foremost,
One must harmonize with One's own Godself.

Nary another
can or will do that for you,
nor shall ye for any other.

So, whatsayeth thou:
let's just try
and we'll see just what we can do.
I'm optimistic,
albeit a sign of weakness in such a needlessly vampyristic world.




Please,
heed my verse
should ye be so apt,
or, rather:
inclined!






Thank you for reading.
Blessings upon thy Path.

"..you hear me, I can feel it.
Write what I'm about to tell you,
for you're the first one
in a very great while to listen
and not just simply hear.

I know your pain.
I hear them too:
crying, screaming, pleas for help.
The people around me point and laugh,
but I know you hear them,
I know you can hear me:
I can see it on your face.

Please, I-
we
beg you;
don't ignore us:
you may be our final hope
for revenge, and more importantly,
acknowledgment.

Edwin, please hurry.
We need your help.
There were once more of us,
but we're hunted, herded and murdered
as abominations, as witches, as demons
by they who severed their own minds from the Source
whether willingly or not.

Time is ever shorter for us.
Our breath is ever weaker.
It's a miracle you're writing this down."

"How am I to help?
You're just a hallucination of a voice-
an artifact of my fracturing sanity;
T'is I who needs the help, t'would seem.
If you are indeed real,
where are you that I may be of help?"

"I do not know where I am,
or where the others are,
but I know it is nowhere we belong
and I know it is now we must act.

The Gift
seems, from the outside,
to be dismissable as mere 'mental illness,'
and it may well be
to one who has not studied it
and lived it
and mastered it
as was once common
as was once our privilege.

The Severed
would seek to eradicate all traces of it
without regard for damage done and blood spillt.
The Severed
have no concern for anything beyond
what they perceive within their inner horizon.

However,
you are of the Severed world, yet remain Nonseverent.
That is no small feat.
That is why you hear us.
That is why we need your help.
You and I are an echo of a dying breed,
a reflection of the Source, herself,
in a realm which intentionally fell from unity
into schismatic disarray."

"How should I seek to help
if I have so much to learn
and so little time to study?
Where would I begin?"

"Go to sleep. It will be in a dream
I shall present myself to your mind,
for a conscious state lends itself
to fear and violent schism at any cost
when it comes to things such as these.

There and then you begin thy training,
you begin a new journey upon thy Path.
You don't yet know how important this will be."

The hardest part in pretending to be okay
is knowing that you are alone.
They see your smile and hear your laugh
and then they walk away.
Your scream is shattering, yet silent
and for a reason you have yet to discover on your own.
Your words are a game of scrabble
That no one seems to be able to decipher.
It all seems really pointless, now.
Why do you even try?

You’re not okay,
And you’re not okay pretending it’s supposed to be this way.
Forced laughter and twisted smiles,
You never thought life would end up like this.
No one knows and no one cares,
It’s a tragic way to live indeed.

But for some reason, you still want to live.
You want to breathe, you want to dream,
You want desperately to be free.
Death is not something you fear,
But you don’t desire it in the least.
Explain these mutated feelings to me,
I’m lost in hopeless thoughts.

Are you sad, or are you happy?
You don’t seem to know yourself.
Should you cry, or should you laugh?
Opposites to each other of course.
How could you begin to describe this life?
It’s a question mark with no sentence.

And at the end of the day, tucked into bed
Countless hours are spent staring ahead.
The good things,
The bad things,
And all the things in between -
Spiral in your head with no apparent ending.
And you begin to think that maybe, just maybe...
It won’t be as difficult tomorrow.