Each mind is situated on the spectrum of belief and reality.
Both ends suffer in their search for the truth.
The man who spends his life navigating the spiritual realm.
He attempts to find the greater purpose for everything.
Every blade of grass, each eroded stone a symbol of something bigger.
The nuances of life analysed and expanded upon to their very limit.
Given meaning in the name of God or the foreshadowing omen of an individual.
The man who traverses reality, grounded in science and logistics.
His mind filled with hypotheses.
Observing outcomes to explain the inexplicable.
He fits his grass and stones into the puzzle of a greater system.
In doing so he is God and the purpose for all things he assigns.
Both men strive to be the voice heard by the masses.
Their findings recorded, read, believed.
In the end does it truly matter.
Two lives spent.
Kneeling, yearning for some kind of affirmation that their time was spent correctly.
That they added anything to the greater scheme.
Pages upon pages filled with every detail in a grain of sand.
The end comes, the ink runs, the pages wither to dust, knowledge lost, purpose forgotten.
The wold keeps turning.
I listened to myself,
the way I listen to pain.
It was a calming
that filled my head
I saw into the vacuous,
as if it were peaking
through a mirror.
Reflecting in constant
multitudes of spaces,
filled with emptiness...
Life is so quick, it disappears tomorrow;
everything that we are will quickly fade away.
If a man should die, he can live again,
God has made a promise.
He will call and all will answer,
and they will live at his command.
He has a longing for the works
of his own hand. Please have faith
and do not wander away for Jehovah
will make us stand and we can live forever
as the works of his own hand.
)Together unbuilt, the gathering dust breaks the air, to only and subtly release the tensions motivated uproar from the shine of a specktor to the graveyard reasons why we play so close to fire. His curtail overthrows me, and like a wave begins the ocean I am unturned and ruthless. Scattered and bare my heart like wreckage. canvas of love and sour paint
Listen to the crying cats at the pianos
and the howling dogs at the bars
Swallow a pit until it's jammed in your throat
and try not to cry out,
Eat my soul, and spit it all out.
Wrapped around my skulls is this illness
of the mellow blues and dead honey bees
Bring the dead back to light with water and weed,
let her light her cigarette,
she's had a very, very, long death.
Religious people condemn pornography
But the person who gazes at you,
From an online photo site,
Or the pages in a book or magazine
Will not reject you,
Or spurn you
As "sexually inadequate"
Or "not good-looking enough".
I have to say
That the "House of Temptation"
Is actually the most Supportive Congregation one will ever find!
Those people that YOU adore become your Saints!
One cannot be judged or condemned by a sexy, nude model
As one might be judged and condemned
By a Minister, Rabbi or Imam
For things that are
Beyond one's control.
I'm depressed, the lesson I learned about
Life is that it's hell in its essence.
I don't wanna live wanna leave all this
And escape from the present.
I look in the mirror and just see a mess.
It's getting clear, perhaps it's for the best
To disappear and fade away all my fear;
Share it all with the rest of those
Who appear to illuminate by their presence.
Called Satan and left him a message, nobody's there.
I would leave a voicemail but I know you won't answer my prayers.
You're a good for nothing one way road to despair,
The sole reason we believe that life isn't fair,
And if it was just my suffering I'd scream into your burning eyes that I don't care!
But I do.
I'm not the only person in existence.
See, there's also you.
Waiting around without a clue as to what we should do,
Just like me,
And it seems that no one can see it through.
Like find meaning in life and acquire proven truth,
we are doomed into an unsolvable mystery.
Most may mistake it as revolving of misery.
How can we not?
All we do is suffer, cause pain to each other,
decompose the composure of life, grow old and just rot?
Oh what an ungodly, revolting thought!
How could our solving of existence lead to such insulting naught?
Let us then burn all of what ancient texts have taught us and then- what?
There's no concrete answer for the endless eager mind,
But indeed, there can be deeper understanding in what we want to find.
In fact it's within your perception that you must refine,
A victim of deception is not someone anyone should confide in.
When only the darkest pages of life are the ones which he's highlighted,
The nature of emotion is to juxtapose;
A contrasting height for our deepest lows.
Can't be happy without a wrenching pain I suppose,
And that's no truth that a cynics brain can expose,
I know this.
Yet this is a concept that everyone can't help but notice,
While still putting in no effort to try and show it.
People love their pity parties I suppose,
And I've learned it's not worth the effort that it
Takes to force another person to grow,
In cases such as those,
All one can do is inspire others with the radiation of your inner glow.