Believe what you Will
In the heat of the sun I was pacing around, searching for something to dullen the sound of the one who had kept me the one who I am and who I’ll always call on when patience runs thin in the dark, dwindling hours of the grass where I stand with an outlook of karma to fall on the land; and though I am the keeper of that which I hide, there’s little to come of these words that I write.
The divisions and pressence of spirt and flesh are at ease in the comfort of my shallowness as espoused by the way that I hollowly stare through the faces around me surrounded by fair and wholehearted dimples to warm one’s cold stone of a heart in the body of one who has died, so often, so often upon this long ride; and the key to the way that he’s come to survive is his willing acceptance of all of the lies bestowed upon him when he longed to undo the injustice around him, escaped by so few of the strong and resilient who still soldier on in pursuit of the gods whom they call their own.
And the challenge of finding the way to return to the truths, now forgotten, by one who has earned so little of that which he’s stumbled upon, is the premise that he has become so far gone that the altar upon which he longed to be placed has risen above the constraints of his taste; and the timing of running from where he once lay is but only a function of his will to say that the things that he said were not born out of harm, but of pain he was feeling within his slim arm; and the virtues of seeing the fog in the air are the answers inside his dispasionate stare.
