...which way is the door...
Fire burning plastic flowers surrounding fields of fresh blooms taking in the darkness of a dying sun that breaths its last breath on my soul in the hope of a new day. A final day leaping into the sky like burning butterflies of sliver heaven metal. Only the just take their refuge in such fields bringing new life to my aching injured impure heart. Once I was happy, open full then the world rained its black muck in layer after layer over my heart and the white light that came from the wonder of my birth was blackened and darkened. What can make me pure again, whose breath of god can bring a dead cynical hate filled soul to life if there is barely a will to struggle left against the darkness that seems to be spreading everywhere. If my darkest desires come true and there is no redemption, humanity must start again but at what cost and who is to blame. Take me deep into the void so the history of centuries past never sees itself played out in my lifetime. Once I willed life to cease and humanity to crawl back into the slime from wence it came, but now that I see wonder and greatness and beauty in life and existence my wishes seem to come to more fruition that I could have ever dreamed we live in the end times and how fateful it seems to my cynical mind that the gods should choose, for it seems that only a choice could be so cruel, to push life into the corner where it seems to be with no other choice but death and rebirth, hopefully we will pull ourselves out of this hell which we have created and nurtured from the very beginning. I feel so sensitive to my world as I have never before my walls have been broken and I dont want to rebuild them. Instead of blocking out the horror and moral terror I must befriend it and make it my own, understand it. Turn the page to the next egg releasing its life upon a planet, a plane undesiring and unexpecting to be taken with such power. Humanity has been a curse and a blessing, we worshipped the earth once and now we destroy it. Who could have predicted such irony? A sarcastic laugh on the day of the apocalypse is all I can expect from a tired and worn god. My soul feels like old cotton, dry and moth eaten with what can I revitalize it.
Fire burning plastic flowers surrounding fields of fresh blooms taking in the darkness of a dying sun that breaths its last breath on my soul in the hope of a new day. A final day leaping into the sky like burning butterflies of sliver heaven metal. Only the just take their refuge in such fields bringing new life to my aching injured impure heart. Once I was happy, open full then the world rained its black muck in layer after layer over my heart and the white light that came from the wonder of my birth was blackened and darkened. What can make me pure again, whose breath of god can bring a dead cynical hate filled soul to life if there is barely a will to struggle left against the darkness that seems to be spreading everywhere. If my darkest desires come true and there is no redemption, humanity must start again but at what cost and who is to blame. Take me deep into the void so the history of centuries past never sees itself played out in my lifetime. Once I willed life to cease and humanity to crawl back into the slime from wence it came, but now that I see wonder and greatness and beauty in life and existence my wishes seem to come to more fruition that I could have ever dreamed we live in the end times and how fateful it seems to my cynical mind that the gods should choose, for it seems that only a choice could be so cruel, to push life into the corner where it seems to be with no other choice but death and rebirth, hopefully we will pull ourselves out of this hell which we have created and nurtured from the very beginning. I feel so sensitive to my world as I have never before my walls have been broken and I dont want to rebuild them. Instead of blocking out the horror and moral terror I must befriend it and make it my own, understand it. Turn the page to the next egg releasing its life upon a planet, a plane undesiring and unexpecting to be taken with such power. Humanity has been a curse and a blessing, we worshipped the earth once and now we destroy it. Who could have predicted such irony? A sarcastic laugh on the day of the apocalypse is all I can expect from a tired and worn god. My soul feels like old cotton, dry and moth eaten with what can I revitalize it.