I
can’t but reason about reason: the sanded thought, to reap for clarity, as not
to offend. Its powerful this light; the frightening word grand, that inclusive nature, as to gain approval. I can’t but
reason about wisdom; for to fail spells a lack thereof; but to fail is the
onset of wisdom: What is this conundrum? I
can’t but reason about hatred; this exciting feeling, as to hurt self, where
the unsaid runs freely. The heart pulsates; adrenaline is racing, as sweat
trickles upon pavement. We rant and rave, to lose for all, where said hatred
laughs; as both parties dwindle, into a tiny knot, lost in extremes; to then
wonder about life: the sheer affliction, the constant misuse, the abuse of our
minds; but this is ideal, where many suffer from nescience, at a loss for
seeing the stumbling block. I can’t but reason about love; this electric
charge, to have died to love, to have died to kill. Where is love so shallow;
this type of maybe love, where I love you was barely loved? I know of
few, where love is almighty, a kingdom unto itself. I thought to know about
love, at such a young age, to fail to gain wisdom. I ached for love, to misknow
love, as one ruined for love; but love is fair, as said of kindness, where love
never injures; such as love—is poison, a misapprehension; so we study love, to
carry love, as to receive love. I can’t but reason about trust; as words are
weighed, as actions are monumental. It couldn’t be the unsaid; where one gives
venom, but wishes not to receive it. This seems absurd; for we lead by example,
where I treat one as I intend to be treated; else for chaos. If I yell—I’m an
advocate of yelling; if I lie—I’m an advocate of lying; where if I love—I’m an
advocate of trust—an advocate of love.
