The end of learning is to know the minds of all Deities, the souls of masters of culture and secrets of everyone, living or dead. It invokes an oblique final outcast onto this world while being reassured at one’s own newly found Holiness.  The Devil is like God, expressed in various ways and forms, spoken softly and speaking loudly, vices too easy to commit and to make profit from. Wrestling inside, mixing emotions, it’s lonely and addictive, isolating all too easily, now I’m self-centered. Breathing in rustic sin. That is ancient and I’m experiencing it in modern times. I can only experience the present, a delusion of time and personal experience, I can admit in confessions or here in literary streams. I’m reluctant to change. Fragrance of the past, memories of smiles where I experienced moments of joy and I smiled in those moments, perhaps it’s reality’s fault. Over the course of my own life, pain became normal from it’s first infliction and pressed upon my very essence, I’m slightly bitter. In layman's minds, its easy to control, either by tone of speech. Softly killing them. We’re all slaves to an extent. My voice is unfragerant, unheard, no meaning in the eas of others, I can speak truths, say things to inspire, etc, etc, and etc. humanity is twice as pretty than Angels and Demons, to a value we have that they don’t, why the spiritual war? Being alive seems so miraculous blessing in itself. I follow no spiritual or religious fate. I am my own. But I’ve learnt, reading, witnessing. Though I resemble others in some way or form. I control myself. When it comes to it, each person's is talented enough to complicate their own life and often pick the easiest way to not only correct it but a strong desire to achieve their own wants. As the Devil is too ready to provide what they want now. The price to cheap. I never think long term. The Devil is happy when one is conformed to earthly standards and thinking. Never tell another person they’re evil or  wrong.  Over the souls of people spread the condor wings of colossal monsters and all manner of evil things prey upon the heart and soul and body of Man. Yet it may be in some far day the shadows shall fade and the Prince of Darkness be chained forever in his hell. And till then mankind can but stand up stoutly to the monsters in his own heart and without, and with the aid of God he may yet triumph. A relief of existing in itself, a burden most cannot part from and most doesn’t have the courage to reach out from something healthy or even fix themselves. Utopia here on earth, is often thought of and pursued by the creed of a select few, normally results in dystopia for others, like the common person, normally a Utopia by people is superficial and only for aesthetic veils. Soul conflicts constantly. Truth is, to do the work of the Devil is easy compared to God. Humility is a virtue of the heavenly, not arrogance. Are we the most superior beast on earth? No, not in strength and not in intelligence. It is very arrogant to assume that we are the most intelligent species when we keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again. In every person, there is a doer and a devil. With every passing days, the doer dies and a devil has to rise.  I have emotional attachment to my thoughts, parting from our personal doctrines is a terror I can’t part from, if I can control my heart, I can achieve vice. I only have one life. It’s been said truth will make people free, people’s mind and hearts cannot accept it, rendering emotional entrapment. Well, and keep in mind where those Masonic Mysteries came from in the first place.

Don’t speak too confidently
They’ll think you’re selfish
Don’t speak too affectionately
They’ll think you’re in love
And God forbid that you be in love
You might as well wear a scarlet A
Don’t be special
Don’t be the same
Don’t you dare cry someone’s name
In this volatile place

this is the city of faith
the city of doubt
discipline overrated
tough will is decisive
the decider, the dictator
in the grey hazy morning
try your best to make it
celebrate all the symbols
concedes mimicking rats
satisfy the prowling big cats
pick whatever that is left
in your accustomed route
and push through it
till the death of the sun
in each of your weary run.

all hail the lost souls,
see you in the city hall
at the end of the day.

the wilderness
in a soul that is scattered
all over this vast, empty universe
always challenged,
left without any apparent
guidance, nor any cult,
firm formulae
we are that only soul,
slow, without direction, colliding
all over this hazardous place
relying on our instinct
and complicated mind
the component of each particle
are intense non-binary
and it helps us to disrupt
the pattern of our non-existence,
and therefore, yes,
here we are.

the sound of
the crickets
making out
with the cold night
disturb
the temper
of the day,
all together with
the confession
and pray.

there is no limit
we live in the world of infinite
impossible is not a word
for any man
invisible at the heart
of a perfect plan
rock the chair of a child
and let them go wild
this world is meant
to be in chaos
and truth be told,
we are already in lost.

helplessly drowning in a rapid tide
let's indulge in this eternal wild ride.

Never arrived the day I could call you by your sweet name
and hear it echo through my soul
Or let the sound adorn every inch of air
Every weary day casually strolled
by and by bleached my hair
Never arrived the day I could pass by your house
and await a signal that you are there
It is unfair, and very unfair
That I know not whose arms stole your attention
from me, your devoted slave with no redemption
Never, Never arrived the day I could die for you
and prove that fools as such can exist too
I continued to live an ashen life till the end
Never did you love me back, never old friend! .

You aren't just gold and starlight
you are my every word
my dialect, my stanza, my every thought
you leave me tongue tied

You are my entire language,
you make my speech so clumsy
all my words are tripping over themselves
just to please you and only you

You are my linguist dream,
I love to study the poetry in your veins
the sonnets in your eyes,
the limericks in your lips

You are literature incarnate,
and I worship you