eternally

Eternal temporality.

Intertwine a line every so often with a nice metaphor. Like the rose buds and the thorns, the beauty comes with pain.

Find more within documents; both on paper and on pixels. Blogger for example, my phone and my notepad.

Need more beauty; more faith; more similes and metaphors.

Link the pen and paper,

the voice and the touch.

The sense of truth and the sense of nothing.

Grabbing onto loose seams. Falling into coarse dreams.

October is the fallen month,
where commotions arise due to tired souls and taught emotions,
like fountains of fear, the decisions within us flow up against our natural notions and the barriers fall down.
Tumultuous times, like seasons changing in the blink of an eye, satan is widespread and our blinking eyes draw attention to our head, where inside severe consequences lurch into the foreground.
Let us all reflect here for a moment,
a rationalised period of time dedicated to atonement,

Purple covers are wilting.
The same lilacs are yielding
to the powerful one,
the atomic sun.

It is breaking me down,
couldn't find the ground,
when the temporal town
began to moan and make sound
like wolves alone and yet all around
this one man - myself, soul bound to this pitiful shelf.

Placed here by fear I couldn't resist to subsist and make sure that I had no choice in my plans.
I did what they told me - took up the flag to fly and spread fear around this fractured society.


Placate, vacate, these words are whispered in my ear late at night by people I don't know.
And when I wake up I can't hear myself - due to the gross noises of these eternal showers,
and I'm cold when I watch the sun grow old and sink below the horizon,
because I know that one day it is going to the last time - and I wonder how many will recognise the beauty.
And how this beauty reflects upon ourselves in our purest form - burning bright for truth and for reform
but so many are dull, and deceived and not rising or falling just being.
And it's part of the fall that makes the rise so sweet.
And part of the rise that makes the fall so difficult.
And it's the journey in between that makes all the difference,
so take the other path,
the long one that leads to happiness.
For on the way you shall grow, fall, suffer and love, and this is life and this is why we recognise the purity and grace of that dove,
for it too has grown, lived and loved and it naturally flys towards the heavens.
Just as we should, believer or heathens.

But how can we resist?
When its beaten into our hearts with an iron fist
shrouded in glorious monotonous mist
deemed brilliant by those who insist
that within it must be a fundamental twist
allowing us to live in grace whilst being misfits.
It's not the shit that we have to deal with that gets me pissed,
it's the fact that it could already be too late
and I'm the crazy one for opening that gate,
for letting the sheep out of the pen
so that they may sense and then pen
their thoughts and hopefully progress so then
we may see something better within our temporal court
that may allow for us to ascend to something greater where the eternal is wrought.

And it leaves me here wondering why many of us can't see the end of the Devil's grin.
Why we feel we have to go out rather than have a night in.
Why we see the ancients as something grim,
and not worth our while to take in.
And to make within ourselves a strong fortitude
that gives us the aptitude to understand our lives
and therefore our deaths that are always coming soon.
By doing so humanity will be living within the tune
of being peaceful, intelligent and concerned with our eternal mood.
And it is too much to ask to be balanced, to be far away from that evil brood.
So when hate comes falling like bitter shards of ice we can melt it all away with forgiveness, the antithesis of vice.

When our best years are spent buying things to kill ourselves it says a lot about our most intense fears,
that we cannot handle long life and the knowledge of falling so hard that we try to arrange the knife in such a manner that it will take our life before we know the false logic ingrained within our corrupt hearts.

and my heart wants you so bad, but cannot have you,
and your hard hair and stained locks drop around my face and shoulders,
holding you I find what I need - two hearts beating at once in solemn intuition;
but within me, deep down, I know that this won't happen often - because it is so beautiful.
But I am grateful, like the sea that laps at the solid cliffs, you hurt me and degrade me, but atleast I get to see the beauty that grows in such suffering. Within the rockpools of my pain lies much life, and this life makes many wonder because of its natural beauty.

so much time to do everything - so much of everything lies within doing something and now we've got nothing to do - so within nothing we may find everything if our eyes are open at times when they should be closed.

And why is it that printing presses have become better equipped yet our literature has become sardonic and weak, useless and thin, ignorant and bent.
Let's carve our thoughts into stone so that forever more intelligence can be related to rock-solid truth.

Let's devour these hearts unknown so that we can disguise our truths to the world,
let's parade these cancerous unknowns as facts so that we can empower the money men who moan for more gold in their pockets like poor souls trapped in strip clubs with paper power riding between their hip bones and their g-strings. It's no hard reasoning that brings us to realise that these things cause rifts between good times and bad stings;
like wasps and bees that can cause allergic reactions in our bodies, we're fragile and so is our mind at times when it is difficult to be at ease - when we're caught in the pale, purpley-green spotlight of a blown up tornado tearing apart our livelihood whilst the rest of the country watches on its knees in front of the television praying to a God that doesn't exist within these walls nor in the temporal halls. Please oh please, they scream as the same gale force winds tear apart their temporal lives piece by piece, material value lost with every natural gust - and no amount of insurance will cover these losses - this is bigger than monetary value - this is psychological damage. Now that the material is inextricably linked with our own happiness it is no wonder that we try to become better and happier through fads and instant transactions. Nobody is happy just sitting down and watching life happen. Watching the birds and the bees, the bark growing on the trees, the earth-worms enjoying the dirt below and the leaves bringing us fresh air upon the pleasant breeze.
It's simple things like these that breed within us bliss; living on nature's soil we embrace hard work and toil that leads us to where we are happy as a character foil to temporality of this realm.

And those purple covers once moved in gracious tones,
overflowing with sharp desires and low moans,
slippery solemn moments captured the atonement to something greater than those.
Such small people.
It is within these moments that what our society slides towards what is known;
and so the subtle intensions of those, that eventually fall like boulders towards roads, become evident to our once ignorant eyes.

But I see purple covers wilting. And I never thought I'd see so many retirees hit golf balls across temporal greens rather than redeem their wasted lives and spend their time influencing and teaching the new generation about their history and their historical lives.

Were it no so easy I'd like to call our history and our pride a burnt out furnace cold to touch, were it no so easy I'd like to propose that we stoke the fires and coals with time-hardened knowledge and truth, if it weren't for the constant decay of primal matter via the insidious and dark infiltration of modern and post modern ideals, a controversial proposition I do know, but when you stand for nothing you fall for anything, and so our coals are weak and futile and our fires are but poor reflections of our by-gone bonfires, or flourishings that have fallen by the way side - blown away by fast food and materialism.

We're all so out of touch that we think we're in touch. When nobody touches anymore what it means to be touched has been lost. And so we're not touched by anything - give us Nihilism, give us helium, so when we act stupid we can sound stupid too. Is it too much to ask for a passion to understand, to love, to forgive, to life?

And when our society views hard work as 'old fashioned' it must mean that what we do nowawadays is not hard work at all.
Perhaps it's because people tend to pick up things that are immediately attractive - rather than things that will grow on you.

The social signals were not lost in the ether - no, they were far below that.

To go down in flames,
to have the truth thrown back in your face,
to have no home, to walk alone,
that's what's going to happen when the truth rains down,

I want...
To see the reign come down.
To hear the fame fall down.
To smell the truth become known.
To touch the beauty in God's nation,
To taste a world without fear.

When Satan's stain sears the town.
Then everybody will know
I tried to make the truth known.
After passing through this town,
after living here and now,
I'm leaving with no burdens.
Giving truth to the unheard,
leading the herd away from the lies,
feeding fire to fire-flies.
Veritas Odium Parit.
I hope you never forget you.